


Duty, Honor, Rittenhouse

by qwertygal



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Epilogue POV Wyatt, POV Jessica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22325488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwertygal/pseuds/qwertygal
Summary: "So here we are. I don't know what Rittenhouse is going to do to you Wyatt….or to the rest of them in that bunker. Though I doubt you'll ever even see this letter. But I wanted to take the opportunity to thank you for reminding me that you were never my destiny. That this is my destiny."The letter in which Jessica explains herself, from her POV.  Wyatt POV epilogue added July, 2019.
Relationships: Jessica Logan/Wyatt Logan, Wyatt Logan & Lucy Preston, Wyatt Logan/Lucy Preston
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Page 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another of my Fanfiction fics being posted here for the first time. It's a very long one-shot, split into 3 chapters, + epilogue.
> 
> This fic had a long journey from idea to epilogue. I started writing right after Hollywoodland, and posted the first 3 chapterrs the day S2E7 aired. At the time I wrote, I didn't know what the writers had in mind for Jessica's character in Season 2, but was quite certain it *wasn't* that this Jessica had been Rittenhouse from the start with Wyatt as her 'mark'. So I slapped an 'AU' on the fic, and left it at that--but obviously, I was wrong!  
> After requests from readers, I added an epilogue many months later, at which point I realized that this little story was actually now canon-compliant right up to the last minute of S2E8 -i.e., Jessica doesn't claim to be pregnant. Which...is kind of cool! So I'm posting it here without the AU label, though of course the epilogue detours from what we saw from S2E8 onward.
> 
> A HUGE thank-you to Once Upon a Whim for all her help in beta'ing the original story for me-managing different timelines without losing track of characters and personalities was very complicated!

Page 1:

That last talk we had….that didn't go to plan. Not the way I expected it to. And I know that with things that have happened since….you probably have a lot of questions. We both said a lot of things that night, in that disgusting bathroom. You told me you now understood your destiny. And who would ever have thought those words would come out of your mouth? But you know what? I understand my destiny too.

You asked me that night to decide what life it was that I wanted. You asked me who I am.

I'm just Jessica.

And I used to wonder about that question-who am I? I know I am a daughter, a sister, a friend, and, eventually….a wife. But somehow….even from a young age, I always knew that this was not everything….that I was destined for more. I am also a bartender, though not currently….not while I'm living in an underground bunker. And I hate that I am here….because none of this was under my control. And I know you will feel guilty—thinking it was because of you. But, my life hasn't been my own since I was sixteen years old—before I ever met you. Maybe not that long before I met you….but still before. So, it's not your fault….not that part. How this all ends though? That _is_ your fault. That-whatever it looks like-will all be on you.

You already know how this story started. I was born Jessica Renee Backman, summer of 1984, a bouncing blond baby girl-adored by parents Teddy and Jeanne Backman, and a little sister to Suzette. My childhood was….normal….in all the regular senses. I went to school, I had friends. I joined clubs and played sports….played the piano really, really badly. When I wasn't at school, I was with my family. We had a good life. Trips to the beach, sailing lessons with my Dad….a Labrador Retriever named Gertie….there was nothing specific to point to that made me different….nothing that made _us_ different. And there was my cousin Claire too—who was as much a fixture in my life as my sister….who I can't recall ever _not_ being there. But of course, she was older than me….so why would I? I've lost track, of whether or not you know my cousin Claire….there are so many things that defy logic in this experience that I now call my life….and keeping track of the changes….that is beyond my energies….especially now. But I adored my cousin Claire—still do. Even though she's close to seventeen years my senior….she was my everything, as a child. The best-friend I could confide my deep, dark secrets to….the mother-figure I needed when my own became distant, distracted by her work….and my touchstone for what I felt about the world….what I felt about people….I trusted her opinion in all things, as she never lead me astray.

We lived in a pretty little bungalow, only four blocks from the ocean for most of my childhood. And I was a good daughter, as a child. I was polite, and calm….quiet….and obedient. I wasn't as impressive with book-learning as my sister, but I had my own type of smarts. Somehow, even as a child, I understood that perspective of different gifts….and I preferred my talents to my sister's. Claire always helped me with that too-pointing out why I was special, why I was truly the smart one in the room. Of course one of the reasons I loved her so-because what child doesn't want to be told that? Yes, I understood where my talents were….and I understood how to use my intelligence. And I was rewarded for it. Repeatedly. School teachers who believed every word I said in playground disagreements, other children at school who would do anything I asked….you could say I was a pint-sized operator….but I was also a good person, and kind enough that I never used my powers to hurt anyone….just to twist things to my advantage. Even with my family. My parents doted on both of their children, when they weren't busy with work, but I also had a knack for wrapping them around my finger. And if anything went wrong in the Backman residence….it was always my older sister's fault.

Until that day it wasn't. That day when I was thirteen, when, inexplicably, something started to change. Somehow, I was losing my control on my parents. At first it was disagreements….that would send me storming to my room in a huff. And then my carefully crafted machinations...the same ones that I had been crafting since I started school….stopped working. Things were no longer my sister's fault….or the dog's fault. They were mine. Sometimes, even when they weren't. And the harder I tried to regain my control….to talk my way back into my parents' best graces….the worse it seemed to get.

Over the next couple of years, the disagreements became more frequent….and louder. I wasn't the polite, calm, and obedient daughter that I had been. My parents thought I was making poor choices, they would whisper about me, when they thought I was asleep. I remember even my sister tried to talk to me one afternoon, during my freshman year of high school. But I didn't want to hear her….she was the good daughter, the practical daughter now. But during that time—when my familiar interactions seemed to only be fights….my cousin Claire was always there for me. I had friends at school as well of course—but even they weren't like Claire. It was Claire who I told my secrets to, Claire who understood me.

Eventually, when I wasn't out with friends, I started spending my time in that bungalow in the basement….away from my family….away from the conflict. One day in late spring of my junior year of high school, my parents called me up from the basement….to change my life forever. They called me up to the living room on the main floor. The room with the stuffy furniture that we all knew was not for sitting on, the area carpets over the wall-to-wall, and the china knick-knacks on the end-tables. The called me up to that room, and had me sit on the ridiculous couch.

And they told me. Told me that we were moving….to Texas of all places….in late August. As in right before the start of my senior year. They told me like it was no big deal, like they were telling me about weekend dinner plans….but I was devastated. My world was in San Diego, my friends were in San Diego, Claire was in San Diego-and what did I know of Texas? I told them, as calmly as I could, that I wouldn't be joining them-that I would be finishing school here. They laughed at me. _Laughed_ at me, and said I would be coming to Texas, and that there would be no further discussion about it. I shocked them then. I stood up, right in the living room, and let them know what I thought of that plan—yelling and cursing, hands balled in fists. It was the first time I had ever seen that expression—shock, surprise, possibly even dismay in my parents eyes-and it made me feel powerful.

I still remember when there was no more shouting left in me for that evening, and I stood, staring between my parents….waiting for them to say something…. _anything_ ….but they didn't. So I left. Walked out the door and down the street. I sat at a park for a while, just thinking. I remember finding it somehow beneath me that I had now apparently become a teenaged run-away cliché. So I knew I would go back to my parents….but I didn't want it to be that night. So—with nowhere else to go, I went to Claire's.

I knocked on the door of her townhouse, and she smiled and ushered me in as though she was expecting me. Though for some reason, at the time, I didn't really register that there was anything unusual about that. I told her about the move, about my feelings….about how it felt to know I'd be leaving my community, my school, my friends….her….everything I'd ever known. She went into her kitchen and grabbed us drinks from her fridge.

" _Here," she said, handing me the bottle._

" _Hard cider?" I had asked._

My parents would not have approved of her letting me drink alcohol.

" _Why not," she shrugged. "I always drink this stuff," she continued, "Especially when I'm thinking about family."_

I had no idea what she meant by that….but I was sixteen, and not about to look a gift alcoholic beverage in the mouth….so I took a sip.

Claire took a long drink from her bottle, then looked at me, an inscrutable look on her face.

" _Moving is tough," she began, "But you still have your family."_

I snorted. She knew how well I was getting on with my family right then.

" _No," she said, "I'm not just talking about your parents and your sister. There's a bigger picture here."_

That got my attention. And somehow, I _knew_. I knew that what she said next was going to be significant in my life-that it could change the course of my life, shape my reality for the future.

" _Jessica," she said, her voice dropping slightly, "You're old enough now that you should know."_

" _Know what?"_

" _Know about Rittenhouse."_

So that was it—how simple it all was. For the next hour she told me all about Rittenhouse, and how our family was important in Rittenhouse….how _I_ was important to Rittenhouse...and everything that meant. To be honest, I thought she was crazy—going on about a secret organization that allowed only the most special of members….and organization that could make things happen for me….just because of whom I was. It was enthralling—like I was being told I was the Princess Anastasia. I wasn't sure what to do with the new information….but this was Claire—and she never lied to me. And I'd had enough shit in my life the last few months I just decided that I was _owed_ this….so of course it was true.

Claire had called my mother that night—against my better judgement—but she convinced my mother to let me stay with her for a few days. The next day we'd gone shopping at the mall, out for lunch….and got manicures. Could there have been a more clichéd girls' day? But it was just what I wanted. And that night, sprawled out on the couches in front of some inane reality program on television, she got me another hard cider—for family, she had said, and just one, she made me promise—and I asked her to tell me more about Rittenhouse.

_She shrugged. "I don't know."_

" _Come on—there's gotta be so many things you could tell me….I don't really understand, not yet."_

She stared at me then, an inscrutable look I don't think I'd ever seen on her face before.

" _Well," she started, sitting more upright on the couch. "There is something that you should….understand."_

_I raised an eyebrow at her, "Okay, tell me."_

" _Wait here." She got up and went into her bedroom, coming back a moment later with a small binder._

" _What's in there?" I asked._

She sat beside me on the couch, not opening the binder. She looked at me for a moment longer, then began.

_"As I said, there's something you need to understand._

And then things got….a little crazy.

" _Rittenhouse is so important in your life….Rittenhouse has decided to give you another chance."_

" _What?"_

_She pursed her lips at me. "Jessica, you've lived another life, in another timeline. And I know all about that other life….because I'm from that other timeline….from the future in that other timeline."_

I don't remember what I said next—if I even said anything.

" _And I'm sure you're thinking that's impossible, but I assure you—it's not. I was living in another timeline….and I was thirteen years old….three years younger than you are now….but in 2018."_

" _You're high."_

" _No—I'm not. Hear me out. In 2018, Rittenhouse gave me an important job to do—a mission. I was sent back in time, to 1980….and I've been living in this timeline, for more than twenty years now….for Rittenhouse."_

I think I drained the rest of my cider in one gulp.

" _What is this, some kind of stupid prank?"_

" _No," she said. "I need you to try to understand….this is so important for you….so important for me."_

" _Even if I believe you….and you can understand why I don't….but even if I believe you….why? Why is this so important for me? And….what's in it for you?"_

_She chuckled then, her face brightening for a moment. "You, silly—you're what's in this for me. It's why I volunteered for this mission. You were so important to me—I looked up to you, cousin….I wanted to be just like you."_

" _Wait….in this story of yours, we were still cousins….but in the future?"_

_Claire nodded at me, and her smile turned sad. "I looked up to you so much, Jess. I was just seven years old in 2012….when you died."_

" _What?"_

And even though _you_ have probably already guessed where this story is going….for me, sitting in Claire's living room...things were just about to get even crazier.

" _In the other timeline, in 2012, you died. You were murdered," she said._

" _Murdered?"_

_She nodded, solemnly._

" _Why?"_

Claire got up and went back to the kitchen, returning with another hard cider.

" _Figured one more won't hurt."_

" _Claire," I accepted the drink, but was in no mood to be distracted from my previous questions. "Why was...that timeline's Jessica murdered? I mean….who did it?"_

" _Rittenhouse, of course."_

" _Rittenhouse? What are you talking about? Rittenhouse….kills people? You just said that they were this important group that our family was a part of…."_

" _And we are, Jessica, a part of Rittenhouse. And Rittenhouse is an important group-belonging to Rittenhouse brings us all kinds of privileges that others may never have….but it also comes with significant responsibilities. But you have to understand, our privileges are only there because of the work we do, the work Rittenhouse does to make the world a better place. Rittenhouse never wants to kill people, especially not members….but when responsibilities aren't fulfilled….it becomes…..difficult, for everyone else."_

" _So….." I took another drink. "In the other timeline….I didn't fulfill my responsibilities? I didn't want the world to be a better place?"_

_She chuckled. "Well….I don't know if that's true….but you were headstrong, in the other timeline. It's not even that you didn't want to fulfill your responsibilities. But, apparently, you announced to your parents when you were eighteen that you didn't want to be a part of Rittenhouse….you didn't want to fall in line."_

" _So they killed me?"_

_Claire nodded. "Once they knew they wouldn't be able to get you to come back to them-they had to."_

" _You are most definitely on something."_

" _You can't imagine….how upset I was. I mean, everyone was, of course. But I didn't understand why or what had happened—not yet. When I was older and learned why….well, for the first time in my life I felt a little disappointed in you Jess. But, what was clear to me was that Rittenhouse….they didn't really want to do it….they didn't really want you dead. And even though I was Rittenhouse, I didn't want that either."_

I remember seeing tears in her eyes at that point.

" _But you are so lucky, don't you see? Because they're giving you another chance….do you have any idea how rare that is?"_

" _Stop it."_

I was no longer intrigued—I was angry. How dare she tease me like this, when I was already upset with my parents? What was she playing at?

" _There aren't different timelines….you can't travel back in time….none of this is real."_

She sighed then, and opened the binder. I remember I couldn't quite see—what was in the plastic pages….but she started pulling out photographs from between the pages. Handing them to me. Pictures of…. _me_. But different. It was me, but it wasn't me….I was….older? There were pictures of just me, and pictures of me and my family—and they were all older too.

For a moment, the pictures swam before my eyes. I squeezed my eyes shut, letting the anxiety wash through me. Then I opened my eyes again, and took another look at the photographs. Some of the pictures had dates on them—2008, 2010…. I looked back at her, to meet her gaze-trying to see some hint of a joke, but finding none.

Then Claire turned her head back to the binder, and I followed her gaze to find her looking at one more photograph. She picked it up, and held it out to me, and I took it. It was this person….me, but not me….standing beside a young girl with curly blond hair. All I had to do was look at the little girl's eyes.

" _Is that….?"_

" _Me," she smiled. "The two of us, together."_

I turned the photo over in my hand. Scrawled across the back, in what appeared to be my mother's handwriting….it read 'Claire and Jess, 2012'.

" _This isn't…." my voice was starting to quake, for the first time that evening. "How did you make these, I mean, you doctored them, right?" Even though I knew how unlikely that was._

" _I told you Jessica—I brought them from 2018….back to 1980. And I've kept them safe….to show them to you now."_

There were tears in her eyes again.

" _I have something else to show you."_

She pulled a yellowed newspaper clipping from the binder page protector. Even before she passed it to me, I could see the picture—the picture of the young woman who looked like me—and could read the headline: ' _Soldier's Wife Found Dead_ '

_Soldier's wife_? I wondered. _I was married_?

And it was the second time in less than twenty-four hours that I got that feeling….that this was a significant moment in my life….a moment that would truly _create_ my life….my reality. That anxiety returned again in a rush, and I didn't want to….but I slowly reached across to accept the newspaper clipping from her hand, and read it. I read the story of a horrible murder…..my murder.

" _I'm telling the truth, Jess…."_

" _Just….just leave me alone, for a bit."_

I remember letting the photographs fall to the ground but taking the newspaper clipping with me, as I escaped into the guest room….to think.

The next few days passed in a blur. I couldn't really tell you what I did to keep busy….but by the end of the week, my mother was calling, telling me it was time to come back. I agreed to come back the next morning….what else was I going to do, really?

That night, Claire and I found ourselves in the living room again….yet another inane program on the television, and I had another hard cider in my hand-because of family, Claire had told me-once again.

" _So," Claire began, during a commercial break. "The things we talked about….they've had a few days to percolate in that brain of yours."_

_I looked at her sharply. "Claire, it's just….not possible. I mean—time machines don't exist."_

" _You're right, they don't...not yet...but they will. In my timeline….in my time….they do. I'm telling you the truth, Jessica. Look," she reached into the end table drawer, pulling out a thin rectangular object. "Look at this—this is my phone….from 2018. I couldn't fake this."_

" _That's not a phone Claire….I do know what a cell phone looks like." I watched then as she turned the device on, and the screen lit up._

" _Like I said, this is a phone from 2018. I'm not making this up. I travelled back, in time, from 2018 to 1980. And I've been living in this timeline ever since."_

" _For Rittenhouse."_

_She nodded. "For Rittenhouse….and for you."_

" _Okay, I'm not saying I believe you….but if I were to believe that this really happened….why?"_

" _Why what?"_

" _Rittenhouse….this great organization that I'm supposed to be a part of….my birthright…. You said they murdered me, because I refused to belong. But….why would I refuse to belong to a group like that?"_

_She tilted her head to the side. "I told you that being a part of Rittenhouse isn't a free-for-all. And, you weren't being….cooperative. You shirked your responsibilities….you turned your back on them….on us. You turned your back on Rittenhouse."_

" _What? What do you mean?"_

She grabbed the binder again, from its perch on the end table shelf. Holding the cover toward me, so I couldn't see, she pulled out one more photograph, upside-down. With a clearly disapproving shake of her head, she passed the photo to me.

Taking a breath, I turned it over-it was a wedding photograph. _My_ wedding photograph. Me in a beautiful white dress, a giant smile on my face….standing beside you. Though, of course I didn't know who you were yet.

_Claire shook her head again. "You married beneath you….beneath Rittenhouse. Your parents warned you at the time….they told you how….dangerous that could be."_

" _My parents knew about it?"_

_She pursed her lips, didn't respond._

" _I told you….for Rittenhouse….it's all about family….blood. You were already promised as a wife for another prestigious Rittenhouse family who had a son….you would have had this amazing life, your kids—they would have been practically royalty….but you threw it all away….for feelings you claimed to have for that juvenile delinquent."_

I remember nearly laughing at her choice of words. No way would I go for someone like that. No way would I risk my future with Rittenhouse for someone like that. But for some reason, it wasn't what I said. Instead I said:

" _Throw away a royal future for love? Sounds romantic."_

" _It was childish and selfish ….and you shouldn't forget that." She took back the wedding photograph and handed me the newspaper article about my murder again._

I spent a while then….just sitting on that couch, staring at the yellowed newspaper clipping. I heard Claire get up off the couch….but, I think I was a million miles away, or something. Next thing I knew she was standing beside me again, offering me another drink….something far stronger than the cider.

" _Here—trade you. I need the clipping back, and I figured you could use something with more kick than the cider."_

I held tight to the newspaper clipping for a moment, then reluctantly released it. I grasped the glass instead, taking a sip of the alcohol that burned its way down…..reminding me I was alive….which reminded me about what Claire said had been my fate.

_As though reading my mind, she said, "But you have a choice….this….doesn't have to happen to you—not now."_

I took another sip. It didn't burn as much, this time.

" _So, with this second chance….I just have to make sure I'm a responsible Rittenhouse member….and don't marry the guy?"_

_She laughed lightly. "Well, you're half right; you have to be a responsible Rittenhouse member….and that means you_ _ **do**_ _have to marry the guy."_

" _What? Why?"_

" _Because Rittenhouse wants it that way. Eventually, you'll understand."_

I took a larger sip this time, and it didn't burn at all.

" _So, if this is all so rare….if Rittenhouse doesn't change their minds very often, like you said….what makes me so lucky?"_

" _It's a long story, and hard to explain."_

" _What, and time travel is easy to explain?"_

She rolled her own drink between her hands, obviously having decided to ignore my question.

" _Four years after you were killed….Rittenhouse found themselves in need of some….specific skills. Specific skills that your husband possessed. So, they manipulated things so that he came to work for them….well, not for them….he didn't know what or who they were. But, he was put in a position to do a job that Rittenhouse needed done."_

" _They wanted my juvenile delinquent husband to do a job for them? The man that they felt was beneath them? Why would they do that?"_

_Claire smiled at me, thinly. "Control sweetie….control. They don't leave things to chance, Rittenhouse. This….job….this mission, was really important to them. And they knew that, if it went badly—if things started to turn against their interests—well, they knew that by using him….they always had a trump card to play in their back pocket. One he wouldn't even be aware of….until it was too late."_

Now, I don't know if sixteen-year-old me was really all that quick….but even still, realization came fast to me about what she was talking about.

" _Me?" But, if I was dead….I don't….get it."_

_Claire shook her head. "If Rittenhouse needed to retake control of things….if we needed to get control of **him** , then we'd use the time machine to bring you back….to make you not dead."_

" _So….obviously, in your timeline….something went wrong for Rittenhouse then?"_

_She sighed. "Yes….in 2018….your husband and his team are fighting directly against Rittenhouse's interests."_

" _And they figured this guy…."_

" _Wyatt Logan. His name is Wyatt Logan."_

And that was the first time I ever heard your name spoken aloud.

" _Uh, so they figure Wyatt Logan will, what? Just roll with it? Say 'Cool….my dead wife is alive again.'?"_

" _Well no….that's not really how they expect it will work."_

" _Why not?"_

_Claire was silent for a moment, seeming to appraise me. "It's just important for you to know that when the past changes because of time travel….everyone's memories in the future change with it._

She tucked the newspaper clipping back in her binder with the photos, and stood, walking toward her room.

" _I'm going to bed—you should too."_

Claire and I didn't talk about it again that summer…..and I never mentioned any of it to my parents. My parents and I got along about as well as we had before—mostly terribly—but I stayed in my family's house, and made the move to Texas. As the weeks passed, I even began to settle in to my new community. Truth is, I'd almost forgotten about all of it—after all, it was insane. Perhaps brought on by too much alcohol on my part, or too many years of weed on Claire's part….or something like that, right? So I'd almost forgotten all of it, until the first day of my senior year at my new Texan school….

When I met you.


	2. Page 2

Page 2:

I called Claire the very next day. I was….spooked. Three days later, Claire was in Texas. She'd said it was only for a few months….but we both knew that was a lie—that she would stay as long as I needed her. And I should have been surprised by that….my cousin, dropping her career to move to Texas with me….but somehow, it didn't even surprise me anymore, the way she operated. And I was happy. I mean, I was still on shaky ground with my parents….but I had Claire, my closest confidante, my closest friend, back by my side.

It was two days before we really got the chance to talk in private. When I was finally able to ask her:

" _What do I do now?"_

_She smiled at me. "Easy. Date him. Sleep with him. Make him fall in love with you. Then marry him. It's your duty to Rittenhouse….your first Rittenhouse mission….you have to marry Wyatt Logan._

I remember just staring at her, stunned. Eventually I found my voice again.

" _Oh sure—I'll just get this random guy to fall in love with me."_

_She actually giggled a little. "Trust me, it won't be hard."_

" _How can you know that?"_

" _From the future, remember?" She raised an eyebrow at me. "The guy had a totally messed up childhood. Poor little Wyatt Logan believes that no one has ever loved him. You pay him just the tiniest bit of attention—let him think that he's important to you….and he'll be a love-struck puppy dog. He'll probably fall for you even before you sleep together."_

" _Nice-using insecurities from the guy's childhood against him. Is that what you think of me cous'? That that would be my style in romance?"_

_She gave a half smile and quirked her eyebrow at me knowingly. "I kinda do, actually."_

I glared at her.

" _Doesn't really matter, anyway." she shrugged, "He's already fallen for you in another timeline….and history's not that easy to change. Trust me, it won't be an issue."_

" _So….Rittenhouse wants me to marry this guy. The same guy they killed me for marrying in another timeline." I shook my head. "Still some kind of crazy flip-flop, if you ask me-"_

" _Well," she snorted, "Rittenhouse didn't ask you to critique their plans, did they?" Like I said before—Wyatt Logan's proved himself a problem to the cause, in the future. And in that future, he also has direct access to information that Rittenhouse needs to make that problem disappear. So you'll make him love you, marry him….and then Rittenhouse will be able to hang him with the relationship….and the beautiful thing is….he'll be happy about it."_

" _So this is the mission Rittenhouse asks of me," I pondered aloud. I looked at my cousin pointedly. Is this how it happened for you? How did you get your mission? I mean….you were only thirteen."_

" _Hm," she nodded, "In 2018, Rittenhouse knew they had an issue-and they knew they could fix it, by bringing you back. My parents….they knew how much I had adored you-I still talked about you all the time, had your picture on my desk….even after all those years. So, they decided to tell me the whole thing-all about Rittenhouse, about why you died….and that Rittenhouse wanted to bring you back, but needed help. They needed someone from 2018 in the past, to steer things along in the right direction, to guide you, to help you. I think most of Rittenhouse disapproved of sending someone as young as me. But there was this one man, he told me to call him Nicholas, and after the adults spoke alone in a room, he came out to talk to me….just the two of us. He asked if I was loyal to Rittenhouse, and what I would be willing to do to demonstrate that loyalty. Whatever I said to him, it must have been the right thing to say, because he decided on me for the mission. He said the youngest soldiers are so often the most stalwart and staunch. I remember that. I didn't even know exactly what it meant then….just that it made me proud to hear him say it. So it was decided. I was given the information I needed….and was sent to 1980. The Rittenhouse agent who travelled with me brought me to a Rittenhouse family in the past, and they looked after me, until I was old enough to be on my own."_

" _Rittenhouse did all that? Just to bring me back?"_

I remember that Claire nodded at me and smiled.

" _And now all their hard work is about to pay off."_

I had the weekend to think and ponder, before I saw you again. But my decision was already made. If I ever had any doubt of that, having Claire living in the spare bedroom of my family's new place was enough to put a stop to that. That Sunday night, I walked into my bedroom after brushing my teeth—to find a copy of the future-in-an-alternate-timeline newspaper clipping sitting on my pillow.

So, I set off to school that next morning, ready to start my first Rittenhouse mission. Which was insane to even think, let alone do….but hadn't I always wanted to be respected and treated more like an adult? And clearly Rittenhouse thought I was capable of this, or they wouldn't be asking. So, I put mission 'seduce the hot guy', as I called it in my head—because I'd already been thanking my lucky stars that at least you were good-looking—into action.

And Claire was right—of course she was, my Claire was always right—getting your attention was….easy. And the great thing was, you seemed like a nice guy too—even if your past was a little….seedy. Back then, it really didn't seem like we had a lot in common, but I liked it when we'd cut class and you'd take me for a drive-show me around the area. And we both liked to drink. And, to be honest, I really did enjoy the fact that you were indeed handsome. The more time we spent together, the more I enjoyed your company. You saw yourself as an outsider, even though you'd lived your whole life within twenty miles of that high school. And I _was_ an outsider, with my San Diego sensibilities….and so sometimes, even I had to admit that we just 'fit' together.

This next part will be hard for you to hear….it's hard for me to write. But I promised myself I would be one hundred percent honest with you right now—because I owe you that much, after what I've done. When we were together, in high school….I may have liked spending time with you….but I didn't have any other feelings for you. I mean….we were together because it was what _Rittenhouse_ wanted. It was also what my parents wanted, as I'd learned early in my senior year that they were fully aware of the situation….just as they were apparently also fully aware of the situation that time that I apparently _did_ love you, and Rittenhouse killed me for it.

So, you have to understand, dating a guy because it's what your parents and a large faceless multinational syndicate want you to do? Well….that's not a great set-up for romantic tension and feelings-development! It was really hard for me….knowing that none of this was my choice….and that I'd have to _marry_ you, and stay with you for years. Even though Claire told me after the mission was complete, Rittenhouse would reward me, and I could have my life back….but still….when I had no choice in the matter, no real control….how could I ever love you?

But I had to do this—or Rittenhouse would kill me. And you were handsome, and kind….so I tried to force the feelings. The way any teenager would—by turning to the physical aspects of our relationship. It didn't work, of course. Well….it seemed to work on you. Because you fell for me hard….just like Claire said you would; so hard it was maybe even a little suffocating. But for me? There were still no feelings. And knowing that I couldn't make those feelings happen….and that I was still going to have to spend most of my life with you….just made me more miserable. Which meant I drank more. Well, we drank more….because I was always able to convince you to go out drinking with me. Or, more to the point….I was always able to convince you to ask me to come drinking with you. It wasn't lost on me that those skills I had cultivated as a child, those skills in manipulating and twisting others to my will….seemed to be back in full force, when it came to you. But like I said before….I am still a good person….and I hated what was going on between us. I wanted a choice….I wanted to be happy….and I didn't want to feel guilty every time I manipulated you.

I still remember the night, about five months after we'd started hanging out together….that I lost my mind a little. We'd cut class that day, and driven to a nearby town, just to mess around and waste time. My parents were having some important dinner that night, and I knew I had to make an appearance before they left. You kissed me, as you dropped me off, like you always did….and all I could think was that I felt nothing when you kissed me. And it made me mad. I wanted to feel something when I was kissed. I kept it inside though, whispering you a sweet goodnight and racing down the walkway to my front porch as you drove away. My parents were already on their way out, and I nodded to them in greeting as they left. I stood on that porch for some time, letting the anger build….focusing on the unfairness of it all. Eventually, I pushed open the door and called out for my sister. There was no response, as I had hoped. She must have gone out. But Claire was there. I confronted her in her bedroom—I told her I was done. That I was taking my life back….that I wasn't going to let Rittenhouse dictate the things I was doing now or in the future.

The anger in her voice surprised me.

" _Grow up Jessica! You know this isn't such a bad gig. When I was thirteen I travelled back in **time** for Rittenhouse—left absolutely everything I knew for Rittenhouse. All they're asking you to do is fuck a hot guy….and get a marriage license."_

That only made me madder.

" _No. You don't understand—but I am telling you-I'm serious about this! Your precious Rittenhouse is going to have to find another way, because I'm not going to pretend to be in love with him….not anymore."_

Without allowing her a retort, I spun around, and went to my room.

Less than a minute later I heard my cousin shove open the door. I turned to look at her—and I can still remember her face. Angrier than I had ever seen her—her face was red, her brows knit and her eyes tearing up. She threw the newspaper clipping at me.

" _Is this what you want? Rittenhouse has given you a job to do….and if you don't do it-"_

" _I know," I spat back; "They'll kill me."_

" _No, you obviously don't know….or you wouldn't be so casual about this. When I was seven years old I lost the most important person in the world to me, and I'm not going to let that happen again."_

" _Shouldn't this be my choice? It's not like I have a choice in anything else, do I!"_

" _Choice?" Somehow, her face had gotten redder. "Here is your choice!"_

She threw another piece of paper at me. A piece of paper containing five different photographs. I'd seen enough Law and Order episodes to realize what they were-crime scene photos.

At first, I couldn't even tell what I was looking at, but slowly shadows separated from form, and the images became clear. I threw the paper down and ran for the bathroom, retching out what we had eaten, trying to erase that one image-of my face….and the blood-from my mind.

Somehow, we made it through the rest of our senior year in that manner. As far as everyone else knew—we were madly in love. Perhaps only Claire and my parents knew better. My parents put on a pretty good them show themselves, when it came to you….lecturing me whenever other family was around about how you were beneath me….pretending not to like you. Well….I guess they didn't have to pretend that….they really _didn't_ like you. But still, in reality, I think they were proud-proud that Rittenhouse had asked me to do this-but I couldn't risk talking about it. Claire had been clear with all of us that this was a classified mission….a secret to all but the top levels of Rittenhouse.

Me….on a top-secret mission. And right under your nose, too. Pretty crazy, right? I bet you didn't see that coming.

As graduation approached, so did the inevitable conversations of what next. Personally, I was just impressed that the two of us had managed to graduate at all….given the number of classes we actually attended. And then there was the whole prom debacle. But truthfully, I didn't really think about my future that much. It seemed like something I no longer knew how to do—given that Rittenhouse was in control. I supposed they would let me know what I was to do with my life….besides just marrying you.

And you were talking seriously of enlisting. Which didn't surprise me, given the only person you ever spoke highly of besides me was your Grandfather….and I know how important his stories of life as a soldier were to you. Besides, it was the spring of 2002….and our world had changed.

So no, it didn't surprise me, when you decided to enter the army….but that didn't mean that I liked it. But….I had seen the news clipping. And this was what Rittenhouse had signed me up for….to become the wife of a soldier.

I told Claire that you had enlisted, and she was so happy; told me that this meant everything was going to plan, that I was doing well in my job. Then, as a reward, she told me all about how you were going to propose to me the next weekend….even told me where and how you would do it. And how messed up is that? I didn't even get a chance to be surprised at my marriage proposal.

And even the day of our wedding….Rittenhouse colored everything. My mother helping me with my dress that morning, reminding me that in no circumstance, would the Logans be having children. I remember her stroking my hair in a way that nearly repulsed me, telling me not to worry, that of course there would be children….once Wyatt Logan was out of the picture….and once I was with my true Rittenhouse match.

Half-an-hour later, I recounted the conversation when I was alone with Claire, while she was doing my hair. I laughed, explaining to her that my mother was worrying far too much. I had never really pictured myself as a mother….so 'refraining' from having children with Wyatt Logan was certainly not going to be a chore.

But Claire clucked her tongue, coming around beside me, and looking me in the eye.

" _That's not going to do at all, Jess hon."_

" _What are you talking about? Rittenhouse doesn't want me popping out Logan babies."_

" _Of course not," she pulled a piece of my hair back, and pinned it over my ear. "But you have to make that be **his** decision….don't you see?"_

" _Make him responsible for us not having kids? Why?"_

" _You know the answer to that already. It's all about control. You have to control his decisions….yet make him believe they're his own. That way, later on, when you have to make a decision for him that is essential to Rittenhouse, he'll think that he is the one who made it, and he won't be suspicious."_

" _Like Rittenhouse controls my decisions?"_

" _That's completely different, and you know it. Yes, Rittenhouse has asked you to do some things that have closed off….options for you, in the present. But it is still your choice to take this mission. And, by taking this mission….Rittenhouse will reward you, grandly, by letting you_ _ **have**_ _a future—and then the choices really will all be yours."_

" _Fine….but about that decision that Rittenhouse wants me to make for Wyatt…..what is it? I mean….I've come this far in the mission….I think I have a right to know."_

" _It's nothing."_

" _Sure as hell better not be nothing...I mean, I'm about to marry the guy!"_

" _It's just that it won't seem important now….not when you don't know the whole picture."_

" _So tell me anyway."_

She sighed, and clipped another segment of hair in place.

" _Fine. There will be a time in the future when your husband is staying somewhere secret. You'll need to make him decide to take you there."_

" _That's it?"_

" _That's it."_

" _So….we're married….but not living together?"_

" _Jess—this is most definitely not the time to talk about that."_

And I decided she was probably right. But I still counted that day as a success. Not just because I married you, but because I finally had some more information. And I was one step closer to understanding what Rittenhouse wanted from me in my mission. And though I chose not to examine it closely, I knew….even then….that since Rittenhouse needed me because you had somehow affronted them, or was a danger to them….then I couldn't imagine how this was going to turn out anything but badly for you.

And I'm a little ashamed to say that that seemed somehow okay to me.

Gradually, I relaxed into married life. And I remembered the words that my cousin had said to me, back when I was in the twelfth grade—this mission wasn't so bad. Not by a long shot. You were a good husband then, a kind man, a loving man. And the sex was pretty fantastic too. But most of all, you only saw the best in me—put me up on a pedestal, and told me all the reasons I deserved to be there. It was a new feeling for me, you understand….when my parents had been so….exacting in their parenting style-so strict in their expectations for their children-and so reluctant to hand out praise.

So at first….I really liked it, my mission of being married to you.

And we didn't have a lot of money, starting out in our own place, but when I complained about that to Claire, suddenly Rittenhouse was making payments into a secret account to me. Claire showed me statements—even took me to the bank herself so I could verify it. So I knew eventually, I'd be okay on the money front….so until then, I could wait.

Gradually, your job began to take a larger role in our lives. After your training stints, deployments began. They were short at first. You may not believe it now, but I _did_ worry about you—don't ever think I didn't. And I didn't like the worry, the sleepless nights.

When your deployments began, sometimes Claire would come to stay with me. I'm sure it irritated her to no end….but more often than not when she came to stay? I wanted to talk about you. She would talk about you too, but only to remind me how you never measured up to much in her book. I think in many ways, she was still that seven year old girl, learning about Rittenhouse, and that her beloved cousin had been taken from her because of a _boy_.

I remember one night, when you'd been away for two weeks….she asked me if I was nervous about you cheating on me….all those nights we were apart. And that was the first time I'd ever thought of that.

As the months wore on, I started to feel other aspects of my Rittenhouse mission weighing on me. I took a job as a bartender at a local pub. Slinging drinks-just for something to do-and it was something I was rather familiar with. Double shifts of pouring double shots….to go with my double life. It seemed fitting. I had always imagined myself having a career of some sort—but given we had moved twice in six months with your job, that seemed unlikely.

I complained to Claire, about wanting and not being able to have a career. And the next month, Rittenhouse sweetened my pay—the monthly deposit into my secret bank account increased by twenty percent.

Then came your first long deployment-months overseas, leaving me alone. So Rittenhouse gave me a nearly two-month long cruise to help me pass the time. I had so much fun-they gave me an alias, and no one there knew me, so I really could almost pretend I was someone else. And I was free, and could _choose_ , for the first time in so long. But it's important to me that you know that I was still a good wife to you on that cruise. I was still your wife, even though I was calling myself Miss Whilton….for that first cruise.

It was later that things began to change. You became quieter….and much more sullen, each time you returned from overseas. And I didn't understand why. And because you wouldn't talk about it….I worried about what it all meant. And I maybe became a little paranoid.

Then came the recruitment into Delta Force. You were so excited….and I was not. I so didn't want you to join. I mean….even though we had our differences….I still worried about your military deployments already….and Delta Force just seemed like it would be….worse.

This is probably coming as a bit of a surprise to you….since I was never anything but supportive, when it came to you and Delta Force. You have Claire to thank for that though-I told her one night I was going to make you turn down the assignment….even make you think it was your idea, just like she had taught me. But she said I had to allow it-and that I had to give you my full support. That it was important to Rittenhouse, and important to her.

So I did-I was your biggest cheerleader, remember? Rah, rah Delta Force! So you joined. And you excelled, as I knew you would. And that meant more deployments….to scarier locations….when you were even _allowed_ to tell me where you were going. Because that was the thing about Delta Force-it meant more secrets. And I hated secrets….I hated the way they made me feel. So I drank more. And when you came back from those top-secret missions? You hardly talked at all. And you drank more. And between the drinking and the secrets, and the radio-silence….my paranoia went through the roof. And that made me angry. Not at you, you have to understand….but at me. I was mad at me because I knew that the paranoia was proof that somewhere along the line….I had developed some level of….affection for you. Because you were kind….except when you weren't. And you were a good husband….except when you weren't. And it surprised me to think that I might have some kind of positive feeling for you….except when I didn't. Anyway….that thought made me mad….because I knew any kind of feelings would make me weak-less able to manipulate you, less able to control you. And so I worked to control that affection, to shove it out of my consciousness when possible, and always guarded against the possibility that it could grow.

I remember one night, when you were away, Claire came over to keep me company. I was already in a dark place that night, thinking about where you might be, and who you might be with….and the alcohol we were drinking wasn't helping. I railed against you-telling her every nasty thought that had entered my brain about you since our wedding day. And she readily agreed with me. But then-hello alcohol-I started feeling badly about it, and relented. So I told her all the wonderful things about you-all the things I missed when you were away. And she disagreed with me. She would remind me about the jealousy, the secrecy….and would remind me just what it meant when men were secretive.

And I lost it on my cousin.

" _But you're from the future," I yelled at her, "You would know if my husband was cheating on me!"_

She was more than ready for a confrontation.

" _Why do you even want to know that? Why would you care? Don't tell me you're developing feelings for this jackass? In the other timeline—he was the reason they had to kill you!"_

" _Well, maybe it's like you said, it's not that easy to change history."_

" _So you do have feelings for him?"_

" _No, I mean….not like love or anything…. I don't know, so what if I did have some...fondness….is that so shocking?_

" _What are you saying….do I have to show you the crime scene photos again? You know what will happen, if you blow this."_

" _I'm not dropping the mission! I'm still carrying through, all of it. But he's still my husband-and I deserve to know if he's faithful to me!"_

Claire slammed her glass down on the table.

" _Don't be a child, Jessica. Of course he cheats on you!"_

I was stunned.

" _He….he does?"_

Her words repeated in my mind-there was something significant in them-and it swam through my alcohol-hazed brain to the forefront of my awareness.

" _Wait, he cheats on me, or he is cheating on me now?"_

" _We are living in a reality where not only is time travel possible, but we're both living lives directly influenced by it. I think we're past arguing about the semantics of verb tenses, Jessica," she was quieter now, but her tone was fierce._

" _I just want to know if my husband is faithful to me!"_

_Claire sighed. "He's a cheater Jessica….that's all you need to know."_

The words hit like a ton of bricks. I was so stunned….it didn't seem possible….

And that was the first time I wanted to leave you.

But Claire brought out those damn clippings again…and I knew I couldn't leave you.

So when you came back, I put on a brave face and carried on. Even though I despised you. I despised you, while you drank more….and stopped talking. So I stopped talking. We stopped talking, except when we were yelling.

I was so resentful of you….and envious. That you got to do what you wanted to do, say what you wanted to say….you were free. There were so many things I wanted to say to you….so many things I wanted to yell—about how I deserved to have a good husband, a kind husband….a loyal husband….and that I deserved that. But I couldn't tell you any of those things.

And so we carried on.

Until that day came in late 2005. A day like any other, I was getting off shift from the bar and you were….somewhere. Who really knew? Claire came over for a drink. And that's when she told me.

" _I have to go, Jess."_

" _Go, what do you mean, go?"_

" _I mean, leave this timeline."_

" _What? Why?"_

" _It's my birthday next week Jess-"_

" _I know that, Claire."_

She looked at me, almost sadly.

_No, I mean….it's the day I'm going to be born. And, there can't be….two of you, in one timeline. It's the way it works."_

I kept quiet, her words sinking in. I knew her well enough to know that she didn't joke about time travel.

" _But-you can't go! What will I do without you here? How will I know if_ _I'm doing the right things?_

_She smiled. "You'll know."_

" _What if I screw this up?" I nearly whispered._

_"Hey," she said, "Don't talk like that. Just keep it simple, right?"_

_"Sure, simple."_

_"Listen—no matter what, the number one thing is that you have to stay in this marriage. No matter how bad it gets. You can't have doubts."_

Which made me laugh.

" _What about him? There's two of us in this marriage, you know. Why would he stay married to me if things get as bad as you say?"_

" _If he starts to express doubts, then you get him to go to counselling, you get him to blame himself for the failings of the marriage….no matter what's going on."_

" _How am I going to do that…?"_

" _Come on Jess, you know how to do that. You know your husband. You know his buttons, you know his anxieties. Use them. I've seen you do it-you're a natural at it-you've got him wrapped around your little finger."_

" _Sure," I scoffed, "Except for the cheating."_

I remember she tilted her head to the side and looked at me curiously.

" _No matter what, there won't be any divorce. Not even a mention of it, okay? Well-until 2018."_

" _Wait, what? I'm supposed to divorce him in 2018? I mean, I know Rittenhouse is waiting to act until that year….so all I do is divorce him then?"_

_She sighed. "Not really….you're not going to divorce him, just threaten to-"_

" _What?"_

" _Look, this is all too much to explain now."_

" _I would agree, except that you've just told me you're leaving….so there's no other time for this."_

_Claire shook her head. "No, Rittenhouse will still get information to you, at the right time."_

" _How?"_

" _You'll see."_

And then she was gone. I really didn't know what to do, at first. I had to trust myself, and I did-but I felt so alone….a lone operative working for Rittenhouse, in charge of preventing something _really bad_ , and yet not having all the details on just what that was.

Then there was the weirdness that my aunt and uncle had a baby girl they named Claire. And I really didn't know what to do with that….how to process that. At least they lived on the coast, so I could get away with just sending a congratulatory card.

My first test without Claire came about a week after you had returned from your most recent deployment. I don't think you even noticed that Claire wasn't around anymore. I mean, I guess that's not surprising-it's not like she hung out with us when you were around very often….but I thought you might notice that I wasn't speaking of spending time with her….but maybe that was expecting too much.

Anyway, that first test. You nearly bowled me over that day at breakfast, when you suggested maybe the time was right to consider having a baby. I mean-where the hell did that even come from? But, once you had said it, I had to act. So I went back to my own brand of carefully-tuned trade craft. And by the end of the week, you were the one telling _me_ that you were sorry, that you knew I wanted a little boy, but that the timing just wasn't right yet. You apologized to me!

By the way-that whole thing-convincing you that not having kids was your idea? That was easier than it ever should have been. It's a weakness of yours, you know-you can let people you care about manipulate you….because you lead with your heart. And, all these years with you? I've learned that leading with your feelings like that is a great thing, and a dangerous thing. Who knows, when I think back to when we first met….all those years ago in Texas….I think that maybe that was the start of your whole downfall….you led with your heart, and I led you along the proverbial garden path.

Yes, as someone who knows you well-and I do, even now, when you're apparently from that strange timeline where I died and we've been apart for years-I can say that yes, leading with your feelings-feelings of guilt, feelings of love, is your greatest weakness. But, what I'm only just beginning to understand, is that it is also one of your most powerful weapons-even though you always seem completely unaware of it. Because, the thing is, when you lead with your heart like that? You can hurt people. You certainly hurt me….and maybe even some other people who seem important to you. Most importantly though, if you stop and think for even a minute….you know that you also hurt yourself. Because we might have found another way, you and me….until you hurt me….that night, in the disgusting bunker bathroom.

But you know what? Telling you these secrets I've gleaned knowing some form of you over the past seventeen years? That's not what this is about. I could tell you so much….but then maybe there are others who could tell you even more….and from a more generous perspective than mine. So that's not my purpose here. And let's be honest, with the way things are probably going right now….with what I've finally set in motion….life lessons are probably not your priority. You probably just want to know why.


	3. Page 3

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So-where were we? Right. Claire was gone, and along with her, my sounding board for talking about you, my anchor for keeping me on track with my mission. But I knew she was right-that I was strong enough to follow my mission parameters without Claire to guide me….in fact, I realized I was stronger than I ever imagined. And yet I still didn't understand how that strength was going to be put to the test.

Years later, you were assigned to Pendleton Base. I was so happy with the idea of being back in in San Diego-where I grew up, a place I knew. It was a place that was somehow innocent….full of choice and possibility….a place before I'd ever heard of Rittenhouse.

But somehow, San Diego wasn't the same place where I had lived as a child—even once I was there again….there were no possibilities, no choices….and I was still trapped. And things didn't get any better between us. Your moodiness knew no bounds, and I was getting really good at pushing at that moodiness until became anger. Because once you were angry, well then I could do what I wanted to do anyway-I could yell at you, scream at you….tell you how you'd wrecked my life, my plans. And then you'd apologise….and we did find some positive ways to make up between the fights. And then we'd start the cycle again.

We'd barely unpacked the dishes at our new place at Pendleton when you were shipped off, in the middle of the night. You couldn't tell me where you were going or how long you'd be gone. Funny thing though, The next day I received a letter, saying you were in Afghanistan, and that you'd be gone at least five months. Tucked into the letter was a ticket for another luxury cruise-three continents in seven weeks.

On that trip? I embraced my alias….and I was no longer your wife. After all, Claire had made it clear years ago that fidelity to you never had to be a part of the deal. And hadn't Claire said that you weren't faithful to me years ago? Sometimes, I wondered if you'd ever been faithful to me.

It's not like I admire that part of myself….that part of me that embraced the alias….I really don't. But it was my only opportunity to escape, from this life that I didn't choose….from this life I was living for no reason other than I didn't want to be murdered….because I hoped for a brighter future….a future where I could have a career that didn't involve slinging drinks….and a future with my bank account. A future where I might actually feel something when I kissed a man…..and I never let it cross my mind where _you_ would be when all of these great things happened for me. I think maybe I had an idea….but I wasn't going to entertain it.

You were back for like a week, and then you were gone again. This time Syria, according to my letter from Rittenhouse. Though I barely noticed the location, because I was looking at the itinerary for my Greek Island resort package.

And I might not have thought it was possible….but when you came back from Syria….it was so much worse. The drinking, the fighting, the jealousy….the silent treatment. I don't think I saw what was going on with you-even though it's clear in retrospect. Well….maybe I just didn't want to let myself see it. I didn't want to see anything that might bring back anything resembling positive feelings for you….anything that might make me weak, when it came to you.

You were around base for what seemed like a long time after Syria, without another deployment….and I didn't like it. Half the time I felt like I was babysitting you. Because when you weren't giving me the silent-treatment, you were clingy. And I'm sure you'll be surprised to hear that neither of those options was very attractive on you.

But it was also during that time that I met your friend Brent….from your Afghanistan mission, I think. I don't know, all I knew was that you guys knew each other, and that he seemed worried about you-he'd come to check up on you, and ask me how you were doing….and I'd say you were fine….because what the hell did I know about your feelings?

Eventually, you were deployed again, but Brent was still on base. And that's when we got closer. I know you had some suspicions about us….and I guess I can forgive you for not wanting to hear about this….but I want to explain. Brent was a good guy-funny and gentle. And he was my choice….and it was so exciting….so exhilarating. It was everything to me. With Brent I learned that a DF man actually _could_ really talk to a woman without betraying national security. No, he couldn't talk about the missions any more than you could-but he would talk about his hopes, his fears, his desires….something you never did. And he could listen too….which was something you hadn't been any good at, since your return from Syria. And I liked having someone listen to me. I missed it.

So that was a really good part of my life. Until you came back from deployment. Then things got complicated. A bunch of us would all be out together somewhere, and I would put my hand on his shoulder, or would grab his hand under the table. I thought it was exciting….to see just how far I could go without you noticing. But it freaked Brent out—made him feel guilty, he said. Within a few weeks of your return to base, Brent was breaking it off with me. Destroying my found happiness. And that just gave me another reason to be mad at you, right?

It was right around that time that Rittenhouse demonstrated just how they could out-crazy themselves. Because I got a letter that week….from Claire. Not ankle-biter Claire from my timeline….but _my_ Claire. In her handwriting. She had sent it through Western Union, a letter with a delayed delivery date stamp on it….just like in Back to the Future II. It was short, and to the point.

_'Keep him close and remember-it's his fault.'_

And it was exactly what I needed, at just the right time. A reminder of my Claire, of my mission. It reminded me too of what I was good at, and why Rittenhouse trusted me.

The months rolled by, and for the first time in my mission, I began to feel nervous. It was 2012, and February was right around the corner. Logically, I knew that Rittenhouse wouldn't have me come this far and still kill me…..unless they had found another way. Another way of doing whatever it was they wanted to do.

The day came-and I knew what would happen, from Claire's newspaper articles. I considered feigning a headache, so we would just stay in that night….but Claire had made it clear years ago that Rittenhouse would not abide history being altered too much on my mission, since 2018 still had to….happen. So, when you suggested dinner, I reluctantly agreed. When you suggested we go for drinks at that dive bar….I agreed.

And that was when things went bad. There were a lot of people there, a lot of people there we knew, from the base. And Brent was there. And I had enough drinks in me by then that I was happy to see him. And he'd apparently had more than his fair share of drinks too….because he didn't duck away the second he saw me, as he usually did when we saw each other near base. So we talked, and we laughed….and hell yes I flirted-because it had been way too long. I mean, you an' me weren't even having make-up sex anymore, not since Syria….and Brent was attentive and…. Did I let it all get a little out of hand that night? Maybe. Should I probably not have held him close while we were dancing? Probably not. But if we were a little out of hand-you were _completely_ out of hand. I'd seen you mad, plenty of times….but I don't think I'd ever seen you like that before. The yelling, the name calling….and all in public. I think your yelling sobered Brent in a hurry, because suddenly he announced he had to leave. I barely noticed, to be honest—I just kept yelling back at you. Eventually, the fight tapered off…. After all, it's not like we even really had that much to fight about, not anymore.

The strange thing was, that when I looked at you, as you were yelling, as you were angrier than I'd ever seen….the anger never made it to your eyes. Your eyes just looked….sad.

We stared at each other; nothing left to yell about, you turned on your heel, and left the bar. For a minute, I didn't know what to do. Picking up a random stranger for drunken angry sex didn't seem like the worst idea to me, in that moment. But somehow-the significance of this night, in that other timeline—shoved away the alcoholic stupor, and re-focused my brain. So I chased after you. You let me get in the car.

On the way home, you started in on me again-yelling, slamming the dashboard with your hand…..all of it. I ordered you to pull over so I could get out….and then I remembered. I still considered it, for a moment….I was pretty sure Rittenhouse would still protect me….but I also remembered Claire saying how hard it could be to change history….so I didn't want to tempt fate.

You were staring at me from the driver's side.

_"What are you waiting for," I growled. "Take me home."_

You jerked your head in a nod; and we drove the rest of the way in silence.

The next day I received another letter from Claire:

' _Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life.'_

Something about that letter affected me….affected me in a way that I'm sure Claire hadn't intended. Because that day, officially, I had outlived my previous self. My Rittenhouse mission was now clearly in play. They found me useful….that was why I was still here. But there were still six years to go before 2018….before my mission truly matured and could come to fruition. Six years!

I watched you while you slept, early that morning. Thinking about the _other_ you….the you that had not slept that night….possibly hadn't slept for days. Or….did he? Did he feel badly, about my murder? Did it cause him despair….or relief? The newspapers made it sound like despair….unless that was an act? But you were never any good at hiding those types of feelings….at least my version of you wasn't.

This was indeed the first day of the rest of my life. And did I like where I was, in my life? Of course not. I knew I would like my life later-once this mission was complete….but did I really want to spend the next six years miserable? Was that any way to live? And what about you? What if I lost control of you? I still remembered what it was like as a teenager….when I'd lost the ability to sway my parents' beliefs and actions. What if that happened now? What if I only had a limited number of manipulations per person? If those powers went away….if I lost control of you….you might decide to leave. And if you did that…..then what? Would Rittenhouse kill me anyway, for failing in my mission?

I decided then that I had to at least try….at least try to be a better wife….a wife that you wouldn't immediately divorce, should I lose control again. And once again….I felt like that was one of those important days of my life….one of those days that set other courses for my future.

So I tried….a little bit. I hope you weren't waiting to hear that I fell in love with you or anything….because I didn't. But I tried to be civil, tried to not actively sabotage you….tried to back off on manipulating you just for the hell of it.

And things...our marriage, continued to ebb and flow. Sometimes better, sometimes worse. I stopped cheating, even though it ate at me that _you_ probably hadn't stopped. I drank less too….except when I didn't….because of you….because I was resentful of you, of your freedom….that you had a life that was your own, that you could control. Well….except when I was controlling it.

The years went on. I'm not sure our marriage was better….but it wasn't worse. You had several nine month deployments….which meant we didn't get in each other's way very often. And when you were home, we didn't yell that much anymore. But we didn't talk, either. And while I might have drank less….you were drinking more.

Then came 2016.

Without warning, you announced that we were moving to San Francisco. Not that it really mattered….I could bartend pretty much anywhere….but I was surprised. Claire had never mentioned that move….and now I didn't know whether or not I was still on the right track. But of course I received a letter the next day from Claire, via my new friends at Western Union. It said I was most definitely on the right track. It also said that it wouldn't be too much longer now, that I had to do this.

I hated the San Francisco gig from the start. You were home most nights….except when you weren't….and I never knew when to expect you or when you would leave. And you took phone calls at odd hours….and you would take the phone into the office or the bedroom….and whisper into the phone.

I knew you were talking to a woman….if you thought I didn't know that….then you don't know me very well at all. And I wanted to divorce you. I really wanted to divorce you.

And then another letter came, this time reading simply:

_'No divorce'_

Even Claire was starting to annoy me.

Then, about four months after the start of your San Francisco assignment….something changed. And it changed quickly. It was as though my great fear had decided to come true-I was no longer able to manipulate you as I once was. You were questioning me more….not just doing what I said, the way you normally did. You started standing up for yourself in everyday things, not just during fights.

And I had no idea what could have caused such a change….but it just kept happening….and it scared me. I decided to pick a fight with you one day….just to better understand our new situation….our new reality, I told myself. I chose a 'classic'...a fight we'd had more times than I could count, so that I had the control….so that I knew what to expect. I'm sure you remember this one. I made an elaborate dinner-even though I knew you wouldn't be back from work for hours. So when you came back from whatever mission you'd been on-the dinner was now four hours cold. I yelled at you, for being so inconsiderate. I waited for your retort-because I was going to work this….I was going to get you to scream at me, hurl insults at me….and then leave the apartment to go drinking. And then, the plan was, I would make you feel guilty for it all….maybe even to get you to apologise to me, tell me how wonderful I was. But instead, you never took the bait. Instead, as I stood there cussing and yelling, you stood there, and took it, eyes on the floor.

Then you asked me if I really wanted to stay in this marriage.

You asked me if I thought we wouldn't both be happier, if we got a divorce.

And I thought I was going to black out….because I didn't think I could fix this any longer….I didn't think I could get you to listen to me, didn't think I could get you to continue to blame yourself for….us. But then I remembered Claire's words from the day she left. And I said:

_"Marriage counseling. I want us to go into counseling. We've been together for fifteen years….you owe me that much."_

I remember watching the emotions play across your face in that moment. You didn't like counseling of any type….and I knew that. There were a million things in your eyes right then-apprehension, distrust, frustration, embarrassment—and still there was that love…..deep, deep down….but I could see it. And I knew then that I had won.

So things continued—the not talking to each other while you whispered with some other woman on the phone. The mistrust, with the anger simmering just below the surface. The avoidance, the drinking….and now the marriage counseling. It was actually tough, you know, the marriage counselling. Because Counsellor Todd kept asking us to think back to how it was between us before—to how we got in this relationship in the first place—and I just wanted to yell at him that I was only in this relationship so Rittenhouse wouldn't kill me….and for my bank account….but of course that wouldn't do. So I made up lie, after lie. And half the time you didn't talk at all—which made me mad. I was working hard, to come up with believable stories about why we weren't working together as a couple. The _least_ you could have done was tried to come up with a phony excuse.

As the months in San Francisco went on, you started coming home to me less and less often at night—who knew where you were-at work, in a hotel with another woman—the possibilities were endless. But we hardly saw each other anymore. And in a way, that suited me just fine. You still showed up for the marriage counseling sessions, usually. And sometimes, you would surprise me by actually showing up at our apartment. It wasn't all bad. There were times you would even take me out for dinner, or away for the weekend. To places way more expensive than I knew you could afford. I would ask you about it, and you would just smile, and say you knew somebody at work with connections. All of that—those little surprises from you—that should have been nice for us. But it wasn't. Because, even when we were together? We still weren't together….not really. Your mind was always somewhere else. Always. Before that, throughout our marriage, I knew you were up to all kinds of crap when we were apart….just like Claire had warned. But, if there was one thing that I had been confident of, it was that when we were together...I was your world. But now….I was less sure of that.

Months later I received another Western Union letter. This one advised me that you would go missing soon. My first thought was to wonder how that would be any different than our current reality. But the letter went on. It said I would hear nothing from you—complete radio silence for a couple of months—and that this would be a good thing….that it would signal the next phase of the mission….the most important phase of the mission. Two days later, I received another letter….with a rather surprising instruction. Again, it mentioned that you would go missing, right after the news would report an explosion at a place called Mason Industries—as though I didn't already know Mason Industries, of course I did, his cars are freakin' amazing—but why Rittenhouse would put Mason Industries and you in the same letter, I had no idea. Anyway, the letter said that when you were missing, and after the explosion, I was to go get divorce papers drawn up, and to sign them.

So that was a shocker—all those years of being told that I couldn't divorce you or Rittenhouse would get angry—and here was Rittenhouse, telling me to draw up divorce papers. But then, these were the same guys who, originally, killed me because I married beneath me, then hired my husband to do presumably important work for them….so maybe there wasn't much point in trying to figure out their logic.

It was really only then that it hit me. This current mission of yours….the one that brought you to San Francisco….was this mission the one that Claire had said had gone badly for Rittenhouse? I wondered if you knew what Rittenhouse was then….and if so, for how long? I even wondered if you somehow knew I was a part of Rittenhouse….though I now realize that was a ridiculous thought….that obviously, you had no idea.

Well, as I'm sure you're aware, a few months later? It happened. The explosion at Mason Industries. I heard that twenty-two people had died, and that made me sad….but it wasn't like I could have stopped it or anything. But then, right after I heard about the explosion? I stopped hearing from you. You weren't at home, which was no real surprise, but you weren't responding to my texts or voice messages either, and that was unusual for you. After a week, I knew that this was it. So I went to get the divorce papers.

It was weirdly cathartic, putting my signature on that paper….I was ready to move past this chapter in my life. But I wasn't completely frosty to you. I remember staring at those papers that night, drinking hard cider, and thinking about you, and me. Not just about you and me, but about the other you, and other me….from the other timeline, where I'd been murdered. Because it seemed as though we _had_ been in love then….in that other timeline. So much in love that I turned my back on my family….on Rittenhouse. But I understood _that_ Jessica now in the way that Claire had seen her—as foolish….childish. Because who turns their back on such things for a high school crush? I don't know if I believe in love anymore….not the way they talk about it in the movies. I mean, Claire said that history wasn't that easy to change….but I most certainly was not head-over-heels in love with you….so what did that say about our relationship in that other timeline? Had my knowledge of the future and my actions for Rittenhouse really changed things that much? Or was it something simpler than that?

I wondered….in that other timeline….if my feelings were really all that different than they were now? Rage and anger punctuated with tiny flare-ups of affection brought on by shared experience….and maybe even by a little bit of remorse. Remorse for your life, remorse for mine….probably the latter. Then I had a new thought: Because of course we didn't have a relationship that could be compared in that other timeline….not right now….not in 2018. Because I was dead in that other timeline. I remember I switched to something stronger than the cider after that thought….and didn't think about you anymore that night.

Several weeks later, another letter came. Surely somebody at Western Union was wondering what was up with these letters, weren't they? Maybe Rittenhouse had a plant. But I received another letter from Claire. This one was pretty specific. It said to keep sending texts to you. She said you wouldn't respond at first, but to keep sending them….and that, eventually, you would find me. Which I thought was an odd choice of words, given you knew where I was. The letter went on to say that when I saw you again, I was to give you the divorce papers….but to use all your hot buttons….all your anxieties….to convince you that I was being forced into the divorce because I couldn't live with the secrecy….I couldn't take not knowing where you were, and being married to a state secret. Claire was clear….she said I had to be _relentless_. She said if I did my job well enough, than Rittenhouse's goal would be in sight. And all I would have to do then, would be to wait for the next Rittenhouse communication.

And Claire was right, because another month later, you did come back to me. Of course, she failed to mention that it wouldn't be the 'you' that I knew. That might have been helpful to know. I mean really—she couldn't have included that detail in one of her crazy 'from across the timeline' correspondences?

But the good news is that I'm a quick study, and after spending an hour or so wondering if you'd hit your head on your most recent mission….by the time we talked in that motel….I was pretty sure I knew what was going on. Because I wasn't the only one in this couple who knew that time travel was real. And, as I would soon learn, you apparently had even more first-hand knowledge than I did.

But, back to that motel. On the drive over, I started getting nervous. I mean, what happened if I handed you the divorce papers and you said 'oh, thank God' and signed them. What then? I didn't know exactly what Rittenhouse was expecting to happen, but I was pretty sure it wasn't that. But I needn't have worried. Because you were horrified at the notion of divorce—I could see it run as a shock across your features when I mentioned it. And you started going on about knowing you weren't easy to be married to—but I just wanted to get on with it. I understood in part, by then, why you seemed so strange, so unknown to me….but you were still the same, when it came to your responses to my guilt-trips, weren't you? So I used Claire's magic line—I said I couldn't be married to a state secret anymore—and you fell for it. Said you wanted to show me something.

And did you ever. For the first time in longer than I could even remember….you showed me something of yourself. That bunker. It was dark and dank and….sad, at first glance. But somehow….it told me more of you than any of those marriage counseling sessions ever did. This wasn't just your job….it was your life. And if you needed to be here, in this pit….it spoke of that single-mindedness that what you were doing was important. And was it any wonder that you weren't comfortable with me in our apartment?

But then there was more—because of course you weren't alone in that dark pit—there were others who shared this life, this duty, with you.

Agent Christopher….who I'm not going to lie, scared me. Not just because she was bad-ass, but because she didn't trust me from the start. Smart lady. Connor Mason….THE Connor Mason….I mean, I still haven't wrapped my head around that one….but he's always been kind to me, and he's charming….and rich….so what's not to like? Garcia Flynn—all tall, dark, and mysterious. I know….you don't like him. And I also understand that whatever the reason you don't like him is classified and top secret or something….but hey, he's nice to look at, and it's hard not to think about him in those close quarters. Rufus….who I never got to know very well. I know how close you two are—you trust him with your life every time you get in that machine—which says a lot. But he's never seemed interested in getting to know me….so whatever. Jiya. Does she have a last name? I mean, I'm sure she does….I just never caught it. But I liked that Jiya immediately. She's a spit-fire. I would have liked to have gotten to know her better—I think we could have had a hoot. Though….if there was anyone besides Christopher who could have found me out….I think it might have been her, so maybe it's for the best I didn't let her get too close to me.

So, I began to realize that, in the same way that the bunker, the place, helped me understand you, so did the people. A ragtag group all working for the same goal….all giving up whatever else they had going on in their lives to do so…. It's no wonder I always felt the outsider in that bunker. Because those people—who had given up so much for a singular purpose….and who keep a secret as big as time travel? Well it's clear how that makes for a tight-knit group….a family. And when I'm feeling charitable toward you….I'd think about the fact that, somehow, you'd had the opportunity to find that family….that honest family that I know a part of you had always wanted. And I'd feel happy for you….for a minute or two.

And yeah, yeah. I know what you're thinking. I forgot to mention Lucy as a bunker resident. But really, can you blame me? What do you really expect me to say about her?

Although, what I do have to say about her? It might surprise you. I like Lucy. She's clearly smart, and dedicated, and kind. And more giving than anyone I think I've ever met. Was I overjoyed to discover that she had a thing for you? I mean, it was obvious, from the first moment I saw her, coming out of the time machine dressed like a Pilgrim. No, I wasn't happy about that. But I've dealt with it before….you were always the type of guy who drew admirers. And you were generally always so oblivious….all these girls and their unrequited love for a soldier…. Generally I just flashed my ring at them and carried on with things, without a second look.

The bigger issue was when I realized that Lucy's feelings were _not_ unrequited. That you had a thing for her. Even through all those years….when I imagined a never-ending parade of women visiting your bed when you were stationed far away….I never once entertained the idea that you had any actual feelings for them. Your feelings were for me, and me alone. That was my power over you. That was why I was going to be successful in my Rittenhouse mission.

So Lucy was a problem.

But then she went and told me about you—about the you I didn't know. About the you who had lived a different timeline….but who was still my husband. The husband who mourned my death. The husband who never ceased in his efforts to bring me justice. The husband who tried to bring me back, once he had access to a time machine….consequences be damned.

My first thought had been to walk away—knowing that you would chase after me again, and beg me to come back….and then I could blame it all on her, and that would accomplish two goals at once. But then she surprised me. Even though she clearly had feelings for you….and even though there was obviously something going on between you….she was asking me to stay, asking me to take you back. And what could I do with that but accept. To tell you that I had decided to give you another chance….even to tell you it was because of her….because that was sure to give you pause….sure to add a little more guilt to your psyche….which I needed, if this was going to work out for me.

But there's something else you should know about Lucy, if you don't already. She really does care for you. And I love the way she sees you. Spending time with this new you, and with Lucy….it reminded me again of all the best parts of you….those parts of you I hadn't seen since we were newly-weds. I really liked seeing you through her eyes. It had been too long….too long that I had only seen you through my jaded eyes….or Claire's eyes. But seeing you through Lucy's eyes….it was surprising, and special.

There was something about seeing you through Lucy's eyes….and knowing you were a different version of my husband than the one I had known for six years…. For a short time….I really did think about trying to make it work, with you.

At first, I wondered if Rittenhouse would even be able to _contact_ me in that bunker….how would they get me a message? And I wondered if maybe my mission would just fade away—if they would see me as an agent lost. But I knew deep inside that wasn't true—they'd still find a way to deliver their message to me.

Then, I actually contemplated what might happen if I didn't _carry through_ with my Rittenhouse mission. After all, you were Delta Force, and a time traveller….surely you could protect me from Rittenhouse? And the depressing bunker we lived in was nothing if not secure. I remember you telling me how it wouldn't appear on any map, or on any GPS device…..it was a government site that truly didn't exist unless you knew exactly where to find it. I don't know why those thoughts came to me….maybe I wanted to convince myself that I _did_ have control….that I hadn't spent over sixteen years just doing what I was told….I don't really understand it...but that's what happened.

So I contemplated it, for a while. My mission. My marriage. But now, even when we were together, I knew your feelings were torn….that a part of your heart and mind was always with Lucy. And then I wondered just how long that had been the case. But I wasn't a quitter. So I used what I had to remind you what was right about us….reminded you of the reasons why seventeen-year-old you had fallen for me in the first place. You still weren't a big talker….but we certainly found other things to do with our time. And every now and then—you would talk to me about something….and it was like a pinprick of light in the darkness….it would give me hope, that maybe we could do this….maybe there was a choice I actually _could_ make….maybe what Rittenhouse wanted wasn't what was best for me.

Do you remember, about a week ago, when Agent Christopher was taking orders for junk food and alcohol? Well, in a probably ill-advised moment of charity, she asked me if I wanted anything. Without even really thinking, I asked for a six-pack of that hard cider that Claire used to always drink.

She brought it into the bunker later, when you were out on a mission, so I took it to my room. I wasn't even planning on drinking anything right then, but for some reason, I opened the box. Something caught my eye, and when I took a bottle out of the box to look closer—I realized there was a cell phone in the sealed six-pack. And I've spent a lot of time thinking about the realities of time travel, different timeliness, and Rittenhouse. But still—that phone shocked me. Half afraid of what was going to happen, I pulled it out of the box, and turned it on. The screen was pass-protected by thumb print. I still remember my mind at war with itself. _Surely not…._ But I pressed my thumb against the symbol….and the screen opened.

There was a single text message written across it.

_'Hey Wifey. Sorry I was a little busy, when we met at jfk's hospital. Text me.'_

Although Claire had never mentioned her, I knew who this was from—the red-head you had fought with at that hospital. I had also picked up enough from my time in the bunker to know that her name was Emma, and that she was a Rittenhouse agent charged with activating other agents. It all made sense. This was it, as soon as I texted that number, I knew my mission would be reaching its purpose.

I turned the phone off and shoved it under the mattress. Where it remained for over five days.

Because I wasn't sure anymore. Was this my destiny? To fulfill my Rittenhouse mission? Or was there something else….something that was better for me? Something that had been right under my nose the whole time. And you know what? I had actually decided _not_ to text that number after all….I really had….until that night. _That_ night.

So, you see how this is all your fault.

That night. It should have been fun. You were back from mission, and I had drinks ready for us in our room. At first it was all—normal. You sat on the bed, sipping your drink….but then I realized there was a far-away look in your eye. I moved to sit on the bed opposite you—and you still didn't look at me. I cleared my throat.

_"What's up?" I asked, trying to sound casual._

That got your attention. Finally those blues of yours met my eyes. I expected you shrug and say _nothin'_ , the way you did so often whenever someone asked you about your feelings. But you surprised me.

_"Are you….happy….Jess?"_

_"Happy? You mean living in an underground bunker and sharing a bathroom with seven other adults? It's not ideal."_

_"No….I mean, with me."_

I didn't like where this was going.

_"Wyatt….I told you I would give you a second chance….and you told me you had changed… that you weren't the same guy that I wanted to divorce….so, it's good….we're good."_

_"I'm wondering now if I've changed too much."_

As soon as you said that, I wanted to smack you—what the hell was that supposed to mean? But I just waited….waited for you to come to your senses. But you didn't.

_"I….I asked you if you were happy. I still can't quite believe that you're here….you're back...you're not dead…."_

_"Wyatt," I cut you off—somehow I needed to take control of this situation._

But you had other ideas.

_"No—let me….say this. I am so incredibly grateful and happy that you are alive again….that you get to live your life. Someone told me that you being back was like something close to a miracle….and I think maybe it is too….but Jess….I don't think I'm happy with….us….being together….in this way….any longer."_

It felt like the entire freakin' world stood still.

_"What the hell, Wyatt?"_

I was getting angry….this wasn't the way this was supposed to go.

_"You're the one that wanted this; you're the one that begged me…."_

_"I know….but this….isn't working. And I think you know that too. We're different people than we were in….either timeline."_

No, this _wasn't_ going to be the way this worked. And I still knew how to control this….how to control you. I stood, and threw my bottle against the cement wall. It made a satisfying crash as the glass bits sprinkled to the floor and what little cider that had been still remaining in the bottle before I threw it dripped down the wall.

_"This is about Lucy, isn't it?" I shouted._

The look on your face was of shock, at first. Just what I wanted. I was looking for the chaser of guilt that I knew would come….but instead, your face hardened.

_"No, this is about us."_

And I wasn't going to allow that to happen—I wasn't going to let you make the conversation about us. Because as long as we were arguing about Lucy….well then you were the one in the wrong….and that meant I could make you feel guilty….and then I could control you.

_"Don't BS me Wyatt….I've seen the way you look at her, the way you two stand way closer than you need to. The way you get jealous when Flynn talks about her….the way you're protective of her….always."_

You were starting to look a little contrite, and I wasn't even done-not by a long shot.

_"The way she's your only focus when you get in that damn machine….and that's when I'm in the room—what goes on in the past when I'm not there Wyatt?"_

And somehow….I had pushed too far. Because the look of contriteness on your face turned back to anger. Your voice came out clipped then….soft, but dangerous.

_"I care about Lucy, Jess….you're absolutely right."_

You stood then, and your face seemed to soften slightly.

_"And I'm sorry, if I've hurt you by being that obvious about things….I guess I'm not very good at hiding…."_

_I snorted, "Not very good at hiding your feelings, Wyatt? Is that what you were going to say? Because I thought not talking about things was your specialty."_

_"Jess," there was that flash of anger again. "None of this changes the fact that I'm not happy….in our marriage. And I don't think you are, either. From what you've said—you haven't been happy in years. And I'm sorry that other jackass version of me made you sad….maybe made you jaded….but I think it's time we face facts. We are different people—different than the versions of ourselves that never knew time travel was possible. Different than the versions of us that had lived such different realities for six years. Different than the people who got married back in Texas….and sure as hell different than those two confused high school kids. And I've been thinking about this….a lot….and none of this….makes us bad people Jessica. We tried, we did….but sometimes staying together because of duty….it just doesn't make any sense. Not if both of us are miserable. We've both been miserable for years Jess….do you really want more of that in our future? Or do you want a chance for….something better?"_

There were tears forming in the corner of my eyes at your speech. And that pissed me off. I despise that sort of weakness in myself. I needed to take control again.

_"Did she put you up to this?"_

_"What?"_

_"Lucy—your little crush—she told you to say that, right?"_

_You shook your head. "Jess—no. This has nothing to do with her…."_

_"Why don't we go ask her then? Right now."_

And I walked out. I knew you would follow—I knew you wouldn't allow me to make a scene like that….not in front of everyone….and not with Lucy. I knew you would chase after me, apologize, and tell me it was your fault. Then you would probably tell me you would work harder….you would be a better husband. After all, that was our pattern, wasn't it? That was the way we did things.

Oh, you did chase after me down that hallway….no doubt because you didn't want a scene. And I practically laughed out loud when you caught up and pulled me into that disgusting bathroom, closing the door behind us. Because I knew what was going to happen….I knew next came the apology.

But you broke the pattern.

_"Jessica," you spun me around until we were facing each other, your hands on my shoulders, your voice soft again. "Think about it. Am I….is this really the life you want? I mean….who are you?"_

And I knew then that somehow….I had lost my control over you….forever.

And that made me angrier with you than I could ever remember being.

_"So this is it then, you've decided. Throw our marriage away? Blow off our future….us together….the way it was meant to be? All this because of_ _**her** _ _?"_

_"Not just because of her….because this," you motioned between the two of us, "Doesn't work anymore….it doesn't make either of us happy….and maybe that's just it….maybe it wasn't meant to be. Not in our futures, at least. And I'm not saying this just because of Lucy. Maybe she helped me to this decision….helped me to realize what being happy felt like….after so long….helped me realize that maybe I was worth it…..maybe I deserved to have some happiness….but she's not whispering in my ear….telling me who I should be or what my destiny is. She would never do that."_

_"Is that a shot at me?"_

_You chewed at your lower lip. "Maybe."_

_I shook my head, my voice rising in volume. "You have no idea the way she's playing you, do you Wyatt Logan? Look at yourself. Because of her you're suddenly talking about destiny and meant to bes…. This isn't you, Wyatt._

_"But it is me, Jessica….and maybe you're right—maybe it's not all about destiny and meant to bes….but I do know that we can make the choice to be happy….and I deserve to be happy."_

You were getting quieter, softer…..and you pulled away from me, your hands dropping from my shoulders. And that only stoked my rage. I was….and am, still a little bit, stunned by your reaction. Because it wasn't something I had anticipated….wasn't something that I had planned for. I stared at you, and the tears came. They weren't tears of sadness, but of rage. Luckily you didn't seem to recognize the difference.

_You sighed. "I'm sorry Jess….if I've hurt you. But this will….be better for both of us….you'll see."_

Then you looked down at your ring, and pulled it off. You held it out to me for a moment….I'm not sure if you thought I would take it or what. But I didn't move. And you shoved it in your pocket.

You turned away from me then.

And I knew I had only one shot—I need you to feel anger too….so I could get you to snap, to actually fight with me, to lash out. Maybe if I could even get you to throw something….and then you would see….that it was your fault. You would decide that it was just your anger talking. And I knew exactly which button to press to make that happen.

_"You've let this woman twist you up in knots Wyatt—you're letting her control you. I mean, how long were you two together, when I was dead in my grave? How long have you been letting her control you like this? How long, Wyatt?"_

You looked back then, stunned by my question. I watched as a new emotion moved over your face. But it wasn't the anger I was looking for. Instead it was….wistfulness?

_"One night….we were a couple just one night, before you came back."_

_"One night?! You've got to be kidding me. A one-night stand and you let her take control of you? A one-night stand and you're ready to divorce me? Are you insane? You've done far worse, you know—I've done far worse. A one-night stand!" I laughed at you._

_"No." you shouted now._

And there was the anger I was looking for.

_"Lucy was not….is not a one-night stand. It was just….bad timing….."_

Your voice trailed off, then you started again. Not yelling, but still strong, and firm.

_"Lucy is not a one-night stand. I'm in love with her, Jess. Lucy makes me happy. I'm a better person when I'm around her. I know that my future….my destiny, if you want to call it that….is with her._

Then you turned your back on me again, and pulled open the door.

And of course there was Lucy, standing in the hallway.

_"Sorry," she stammered._

And that was when I saw that her eyes were glistening.

_"I came to use the….and then I heard shouting….."_

You just stood there in the doorway, looking at her. And she stood there looking back at you. I marched out of that damn bathroom, pausing for a beat between you, to look at you both.

You were still just staring at each other—as though you were looking right through me.

No matter. I knew what I had to do now. I pushed by, headed for my room.

Staring at that cot, I knew I was getting that feeling again—like this was an _important_ moment. A moment that would create my life, my reality. I pulled the phone out from under the mattress, and texted Emma.

All they had ever wanted was the location of the bunker. Which I think I understood all along. Rittenhouse sent me further instructions on my extraction plan, which would happen just before they put….the rest of their plan in place. They said I didn't need to know what that was. And I really didn't want to know what that was.

Something about just leaving like that seemed wrong. I mean—you had been my husband….a constant in my life for almost twenty years. Rittenhouse laughed at my request to contact you one more time. But then, for some reason they relented, and said I could write a letter, to explain.

And so here we are. I don't know what Rittenhouse is going to do to you Wyatt….or to the rest of them in that bunker. Though I doubt you'll even ever see this letter.

But I wanted to take the opportunity to thank you. To thank you for getting me back on track when I considered straying from my mission. To thank you for reminding me that _you_ were never my destiny. That _this_ is my destiny.

You asked me to decide what life it was that I wanted. You asked me who I am.

I am just Jessica.

And I am Rittenhouse.


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an epilogue from Wyatt's POV, promised to my wonderful readers over a year ago! Sorry for the delay....this was actually quite difficult for me to write, trying to get at Wyatt's emotions around the discovery of Jessica's deception-without leaving him in a pit of self-condemnation and guilt...but luckily he has Lucy to help him with that! I didn't use a beta on this epilogue, so all typos, errors, and any bizarre turns of phrase are entirely my own!
> 
> Note 2: I'm adding this to page one of chapter 1 of this fic as well. Since this fic was written during season2, I had labeled it as AU, as I thought the writers were going in a different direction with Jessica's character. Imagine my surprise when the writers' decisions meant that this fic is actually canon-compliant through to the last 2 minutes of S2E8, ie, no Jessica pregnancy! So, I've pulled the AU off of the original fic, and given it a new summary.
> 
> Let me know what you think--Thank you everyone for reading!

Epilogue:

Exhilaration.

Followed by free fall.

Followed by pain.

Water and salt.

Flashes of sunshine followed by blackness as the wave had crashed down, feeling like a cement wall.

A hard stop.

The memories of that day in Hawaii circled through his head as though they were running on a perpetual motion machine bent on breaking his sanity. It had looked like a good wave, a familiar wave, a safe wave….until it had turned on him, showing its true nature. And by then it had been too late.

His surfing accident of course had been followed by a slow yet steady recovery.

But how could he ever recover from _this_?

A heated rush of anger flared in his chest as he crumpled the letter he was holding in his hands into a ball-throwing it across the room and watching it bounce haphazardly onto one of the seven cots arranged in the space-Lucy's cot. The anger was quickly replaced by the sting of guilt, and by a new rush of self-condemnation. Because he had done this-brought this danger into his home, into his family-and because of _him_ they had very nearly not made it out alive.

The fact that they _had_ made it out alive only served to add a significant level of shame into his current emotional stew. Bringing Jessica to the bunker had started this whole mess that had led them here-to another government safe house. Thankful to be alive, but now cowering in yet another dank space that time and sanitation seemed to have forgotten. This time with both a communal bathroom _and_ a communal bedroom. Because apparently there had been truly nowhere to go but down.

He stood and marched over to Lucy's cot to retrieve the offending letter….the offensive letter. How could he have been so blind-so _stupid_? He'd been just a mark to Jessica, an assignment. All along. He briefly considered throwing the letter in the metal trash can and setting it ablaze, but relented. Instead, he jammed it into a paperback Bond book, somehow rescued along with some of Lucy's papers, that now sat on the shared meager shelf of team personal possessions, that was situated beside Lucy's cot. He deserved to have the letter there-to remind him. Besides, Christopher would be pissed if he destroyed it-she wanted to go through it for clues.

Without thinking he sat heavily on the nearest cot and closed his eyes. He gave in, for just a moment, and let the tears come.

His thoughts circled back to yesterday-though it seemed more like a lifetime ago-and his conversation with Jessica in the bathroom of their original bunker.

The conversation that Lucy had overheard.

The conversation that changed everything.

He could still remember the feeling of the swing and swirl of his emotions-standing outside that forsaken bathroom staring into Lucy's shocked eyes-and realizing that, underneath the shock, there was a glimmer of something else….a glimmer of hope, perhaps a glimmer of the future-of _their_ future. She'd reached for his hand then, and his emotions continued to soar. He'd been only vaguely aware of Jessica storming past the both of them, as she moved with purpose toward the bedroom.

He'd felt Lucy squeeze his hand, and he squeezed back, but then a shadow flitted across her whisky-eyes and she bit her lower lip. He'd been pretty sure what she was thinking.

"I….should go talk to Jessica….I guess," he'd said, before she had the opportunity to say it.

Lucy had nodded silently and then, and almost reluctantly, released his hand.

He'd taken only a few steps away from her before he turned back, pulled by that inexplicable force that had seemed to tether him to her from the moment of their first meeting.

"We'll talk-I promise."

She nodded again. "I know," she whispered.

He'd been about to turn back from her then, force himself to break the connection while he went to deal with Jessica, when she spoke again.

"Did you mean what you said?"

He nodded, "I did. All of it." Then, raising an eyebrow, asked, "How much did you hear?"

"Most of it….I mean, I don't know, but I heard…." She trailed off, and he watched her expression slowly shift to unsure. "I heard you say you love me."

He nodded curtly. "Good. Then you heard the important part." He could feel a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he saw her expression shift again-this time to something that sure the heck resembled wonder. And he had wanted nothing more in that moment than to take her in his arms and prove his love…. But it was late. And he had to settle things with Jessica. So instead he tipped his head to the side and smiled softly at her, "Talk to you in the morning, Babydoll?"

She gave a gentle smile in return, and his heart warmed at the simplicity of her expression, and of the gesture….and the promise, it extended.

"Absolutely," she replied, "Schweetheart," she added, as though in afterthought.

He remembered nearly floating down the hall. Because of course they had to talk still, but the relief in finally putting voice to what had been inside him, what had been weighing him down these weeks-combined with the fact that Lucy hadn't immediately run in the other direction….it left him swimming in an intoxicating blend of hope and happiness. Yes there were things to be worked out, with both Jessica and Lucy-but Wyatt had felt lighter than he had since….since Hollywood.

He'd reached the door to his room-to their room, his room with Jessica-and he paused, listening intently to the shuffling sounds coming from the other side of the door. Shuffling sounds followed by a slamming drawer-it sounded like she was packing. He'd tried turning the knob then-but it was locked. Well, he mused, _message received_. Though he couldn't blame her. But if she was in no mood to deal with him….well then he definitely wasn't prepared to deal with her right now. Besides, he'd chided himself, if she was intent on leaving the bunker, he was going to need Agent Christopher's involvement...and she wouldn't be back at the bunker until the morning anyway, so it could wait. It could all wait, a few more hours. Decision made, he turned and walked back to the common area, thankful to find it empty, and settled on the couch to sleep. He'd deal with Jessica in the morning.

Of course if he'd had any clue at the time of what was _really_ going on….of who Jessica _really_ was….he probably would have chosen his actions differently…. But without that key knowledge, delaying that confrontation until the morning had made sense.

Wyatt had drifted to sleep-feeling that lightness of spirit flood him with contentment again as he recalled the look of near-wonder in Lucy's eyes, standing outside that bathroom.

Somehow, even with his makeshift bed in the middle of the bunker common area, Wyatt had managed to sleep in the next morning-his bunker-mates going about their morning routines without disturbing him. Upon waking, he felt a warmth spread through him at the memory of Lucy's face when he'd re-affirmed his statement of love. But as quickly as it had come, that confidence and comfort from the night before had abandoned him. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, elbows on knees and head in his hands.

He knew that his marriage with Jessica was over. He had tried….but he now recognized it had been for the wrong reasons-that it had been out of a sense of duty, but that his _heart_ had never really been in it. And now it was time to move on from Jessica, for both of their sakes, he'd thought.

And he wanted to move on with Lucy. But….was that what _she_ wanted? He'd started to worry. She hadn't really said anything to confirm her feelings the night before-what if he'd only _imagined_ seeing the hope in her eyes, the smile at his admission of love….what if she'd actually spent the night trying to find a gentle way to let him down? To tell him how much she valued him as a friend….but…..

The more his thoughts swirled, the more he realized how much he didn't know, the more he realized how many things there were that he couldn't be sure of….not until he and Lucy talked.

But one thing he was sure of was that he had to talk to Jessica first. And just sitting here on the cement-like couch wasn't going to make that happen.

So he'd made his way down the hall, back toward his bedroom….their bedroom, trepidation growing in him the nearer he came to the door.

Before he was truly ready, he was there. He wondered momentarily if they would get through this discussion without it turning into one of their well-honed shouting matches….he really didn't want to make that kind of scene with the whole team watching….but if it couldn't be helped….

Not allowing himself to think any longer he grasped the door handle and turned it. Thankfully she had unlocked it, and the door swung open to reveal….

….an empty room.

Where the hell had she gone? They were _literally_ in a hole underground.

Was she in the makeshift gym by Connor's room? But to have gone there she'd have had to walk right past the couch where he'd been sleeping-had he really managed to sleep through that? He'd gritted his teeth in annoyance. Obviously he had-there really weren't that many other places she could be. He had been about to turn and close the door, to go search her out there, when he saw them. There were papers sitting on the bed.

The divorce papers.

He'd stood for a moment, just staring at the papers, thinking. Her signature was already there-she'd signed it before….well, before he'd even entered this timeline. A moment of sudden clarity swept through him, and he'd grabbed a pen from the shelf by the light-switch, moved to the bed in a single stride to collect the stapled stack of papers, flipped to the signature page at the back….and signed the thing.

There.

So it was official. He was no longer married to Jessica.

His internal reaction had surprised him then, because he didn't feel….anything, really. No regret about the end of their marriage, no longing for the 'what ifs'. Of course he felt badly that he'd hurt this Jessica, that he'd basically shouted his feelings for Lucy at her after pulling her into this hole in the ground…. Yes, he felt really badly about dragging this Jessica into this whole mess…. But about their marriage ending? He felt nothing. Because the one thing he knew for sure? This Jessica….wasn't his.

And, even more importantly, he wasn't hers.

He was different, now-not the same person he had been six years ago. Most likely, they _both_ were different, he'd mused. And maybe if they had experienced the last six years together it might have been different….but they hadn't. And even if they had…. He glanced back at the papers, hearing Lucy's voice in his head, _maybe some things were just meant to be_. He straightened, running his hand through his hair. But this was the opportunity for both of them, wasn't it? Now he and Jessica, they could both start anew. This would give them both the opportunity to keep growing and changing….and to truly follow their hearts.

Of course, if he'd had any notion then about who this Jessica really was….about her mission….well then he wouldn't have given a damn about giving her the opportunity to follow her heart. But he'd had no idea then….had no idea what he'd done by letting her near his family.

But that had been about to change.

He had glanced away from the divorce papers then, his eyes drawn back to the bed where he saw three _more_ pieces of paper-light-purple lined paper, filled with a script he recognized as Jessica's, previously hidden by the more official documents.

Even as he reached for the new pages, the new information from Jessica, a sense of foreboding grew inside him. Only skimming the first two lines, he found himself compelled to flip to the end….where he read the words.

No matter how impossible it sounded, he read the words he had somehow been expecting, and dreading, since he first saw those purple papers marked by her familiar scrawl. The words he'd somehow been expecting and dreading….perhaps since he'd first entered this timeline:

_I am Rittenhouse_.

"Lucy!"

"Agent Christopher!"

"LUCY!"

Without any additional thought he'd raced back to the common area, his shouts gathering the team.

" _Jessica's Rittenhouse."_

" _She's gone."_

He could no longer even remember the next handful of moments-they were merely flashes in his mind. Jiya, racing to grab Jessica's laptop. Wyatt shouted the only two passwords his Jessica had ever used from across the room-hoping that she'd never taken his erstwhile advice to change them. Agent Christopher was in motion too-sending Rufus to ready the Lifeboat, Connor and Lucy to pack the essentials. Then Flynn had been yelling….something. Numbers on the computer screen that had meant nothing to Wyatt….but had meant something to Flynn. Flynn yelling again-this time the message was clear and received:

"Get out now!"

And somehow, they had.

Their escape was another series of broken images to Wyatt-Rufus and Jiya rushing toward the time machine, Agent Christopher saying something about the others getting out through the front door-then pressing a business card containing an address into Lucy's palm as she simultaneously pushed Lucy toward the Lifeboat. Lucy grabbing his hand, pulling forcefully to move him from his spot where he still stood, leading him to the Lifeboat with her, all while he was looking back at the purple letter in his hand….trying to understand.

And now they were here.

And even after what must have been twenty read-throughs of the letter, he was left still in that same place he'd been before they'd escaped that first bunker-that place of just trying to understand.

"Wyatt?"

The voice was so soft he nearly missed it, but he forced himself to open his eyes and look up just long enough to see Lucy walking toward him. He turned his gaze toward the floor.

"You okay?"

"Peachy," he said

He saw her frown grow out of the corner of his eye. She stepped closer.

"We were wondering where you got to. The doctor just left-Agent Christopher is fine, Connor and Flynn have just a few bumps and bruises from being thrown by shock wave from the explosion…." she trailed off.

He nodded, slowly, still looking at the ground. "And the bunker?"

She moved closer still, close enough to touch, if he'd reached out his hand. He didn't.

"Still a foul hole in the ground. Now just about five times bigger."

He chuffed a dry laugh. "Gotta hand it to Rittenhouse. GBU bunker-busters….you don't just go pick those up at the corner store."

He heard her sigh, still not lifting his gaze to hers. "You and Agent Christopher always suspected Rittenhouse had infiltrated the military, the government. Accessing weaponry like that? Well, now we know for sure." She paused, and he felt rather than saw her move forward. "Can I sit?"

He raised his gaze to hers-her eyes looked cautious, as though she were afraid she would spook him….as though he were a wild animal. He dropped his eyes again. "Pretty sure it's your cot, anyway."

"You're right. It is."

She sat then, about a foot away from him, still closer than he deserved. He moved his hands to his knees, and made to stand. This time she actually did touch him-he felt the small pressure of her hand grasping at his upper arm.

"Wyatt, stay."

Sinking back onto the cot, he obeyed-he was too tired to do anything else, at this point. Keeping his eyes on the floor he felt the bedding shift as she settled beside him on the cot-he could see her feet and knees angled toward him.

"So," she began, "We've all been declared dead….I mean, _again_. Even you and Connor and Agent Christopher this time, though I think Agent Christopher's family knows the truth. Good news is that Agent Christopher still has a couple contacts in the government that she trusts, and they still know about us….and they'll continue to provide us with enough funding to continue….chasing them. Chasing Rittenhouse."

He remained silent-what was there for him to say?

There was an uneasy silence between them for a moment, then she began again. "So….there's a rumour going around here that you _thanked_ Flynn."

He shrugged, slightly. "He saved us….if he hadn't of recognized those number sequences for what they were-" He stopped talking, as she grasped his hand in hers. Not knowing what else to do, he sat quietly for a moment, just _feeling_ her presence there, beside him. Just feeling her hand holding his.

He tried to form coherent words, several times. But each time he was stymied by a tightness in his throat that seemed to make speech impossible. Eventually, he forced out, "Lucy-I'm sorry?"

"For what?"

He glanced up just long enough to see the honest confusion in her face at his statement. He sighed, "Did you look at the text I sent you?"

He felt her go still momentarily beside him-not that she'd even been moving, really-but he'd felt her still, just the same. He had surprised her with that question. He suspected he'd also surprised her when he'd texted photos of Jessica's letter to her shortly after stepping back out of the Lifeboat and into their new bunker.

"Yes," she said, tentatively.

He nodded.

"Did you send it to anyone else?" she asked.

He shrugged. "No. Christopher knows the letter exists, and the basics about….this version of Jessica. I told her she could have the letter whenever she wants it." He paused, choosing his words carefully before continuing. "But….I just….needed to send it to you. I needed someone else….I needed _you_ to see."

He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye, but he remained still.

"To make it real," she said to him.

"To make it real," he agreed.

She squeezed his hand.

He glanced down, staring at her small hand wrapped around his larger one. He didn't dare to squeeze back, but summoned the courage to bring his gaze up to meet hers.

She was looking at him with an intense combination of concern and curiosity. "And, now that it's real," she asked, "What's next?

He opened his mouth to reply, but realizing he was unable to find the words, looked away.

Her voice softened, "Will you tell me what you're thinking."

He shook his head. How could he even begin to explain to her….when he couldn't even form the thoughts himself? All he had wanted was to do what was right. To do right by Jessica, and to do right by his team….but it had all turned out wrong. And now, with Jessica's admission she was Rittenhouse, with her giving up their location…. he'd caused so much damage, he had nearly destroyed them all! The thoughts in his brain spun in a circle. He'd just proved his father's opinion from so many years ago, hadn't he? Wyatt Logan couldn't be trusted, he couldn't be relied on…..

Somewhere from within his cloud of self-condemnation, he realized Lucy was still staring at him, waiting for a response….waiting for him to tell her what he was thinking. As though that were a simple request….as though that were even possible. But she deserved an answer, an honest answer…. He sucked in his breath and said softly, "I…." he released her hand, disappointed in himself. "I can't….there's too much…."

She turned fully to face him then, her knee pressing against his. "So just tell me one thing. It's one thing at a time, right?"

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. But when he pulled his hand away, he found that she was still looking at him, eyes sad but kind, open-as though she truly wanted to know. After everything he'd held back from her, he could give her this-and he felt himself nodding, slowly. "Okay, One thing."

She nodded back in encouragement.

He could tell her that first thing-that first idea that had spun around in his head after reading Jessica's letter….he could do that. He swivelled to face her, meeting her eyes, "Even….even with everything else, what keeps going around and around in my head is that Rittenhouse wanted us all out of the picture. And she was helping them. And I don't know what to do with that-how she could even think that….wanting to kill us….let alone do it." His gaze darted back to the floor.

He felt her finger ghost against his chin and he glanced up. She met his gaze. "She said in the letter that she didn't know what was going to happen to you….to us."

He sighed. "Yeah, but she knew _something_ was going to happen, right? And she knew it was going to be bad." He made a fist, grinding it into his palm. "And she was helping them. So she didn't care, obviously, didn't care at all about what happened to us," he squeezed his fist tighter, "And not just to me, but to everyone else too, even when I told her that…." he released the fist, then brought his hand up and pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, "Even when I had told her that you all are my family, that I'd finally found a place where I belonged….and she knew how hard that had been for me before…." he trailed off, no longer trusting himself to give words to his emotions without completely losing control, and he wasn't willing to do that, not today, it had been too long a day, too strange.

"You told her that?" Lucy asked, "That you'd found a place where you belonged….that you'd found a family?"

He nodded bruskly. "It's the truth." He chanced a glance at Lucy's face, and was surprised to see her eyes wet with emotion.

"Wyatt?" he was surprised at how _carefully_ she said the word. "Can I say something?"

"Anything."

Her voice became more confident as she continued. "I think you need to stop thinking about this Jessica-the one who answers to Rittenhouse-as _your_ Jessica. This Jessica….she was never your Jessica, Wyatt-she was someone different, someone shaped by Rittenhouse, their ultimate sleeper agent….she was someone on a mission, just like she said in the letter."

He closed his eyes. "But in the letter she said that my Jessica was Rittenhouse too."

He felt her grasp his forearm. "They were completely different-your Jessica may have been born into a Rittenhouse family, but she turned her back on them to be with you….she probably had no idea what Rittenhouse was all about. She loved you….and they killed her for it. But this Jessica….she was _weaponized_ by them….sent on a mission to destroy you. To destroy us."

He heard her, and understood the perspective….but there was more to it than that, wasn't there? He shook his head slightly, then met her gaze again. "But it still means that Jessica….all versions of Jessica….is still _capable_ of this….she _chose_ to carry through with the Rittenhouse plan. She even said it in the letter-that she considered other options…. but what she did….it was her choice. She chose to turn on us, to activate her mission….after I told her our marriage was done." He paused, trying to ride out the swell of emotions. He felt a tear escape his control and slide down his cheek. "Jessica felt an appropriate response to me telling her we were through….was to have us all killed. Who _does_ that? Who thinks that way?" He ran his teeth along his bottom lip. "And how could I have ever loved a person who could do that?"

Lucy sighed. "I think we're all capable of many different things, depending on our circumstances. But none of this changes the fact that the Jessica who turned on us is not your Jessica. Wyatt, I've heard the things you've said about you and your Jessica since the day we met-you and your Jessica-you had this strong marriage, this amazing love. If she had lived your marriage would have been completely different than the one that Rittenhouse Jessica described-"

He cut her off, shaking his head gently. "I don't know how different our marriage would have been….or how different it actually ever was."

He watched as she drew back slightly, her eyes widening in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean….no, my Jessica may not have been an active Rittenhouse agent, and you're right….we did love each other in the start. But…."

She was waiting for him to continue. Was he really going to be able to say this? To her? But he knew-he knew he _had_ to say it. To help her understand….to remove just a little of the crushing weight that he felt whenever he thought of Jessica, so there would finally be room for him to move….room for him to move on. Maybe he even had to say it to properly honor his memory of her, his memory of _his_ Jessica, and their life together. He took a breath, and pressing his hands into his knees he shifted, breaking his physical contact with Lucy.

"In our timeline, Jessica and me? Our marriage was hard, Luce. It was….a mess. And, when I read that letter? Well I'm not sure that our marriage was really any different from the one she describes in this timeline. I mean….Jess an' me, we didn't communicate well. And that meant that things we could have worked through….things we should have worked through….they just festered. And all the pressures associated with my job….I just got even more quiet….and made things worse, I guess. That's why when we first entered this timeline, and this Jessica told me what I was like, how I'd been such a bad husband….well, I thought maybe it was actually possible that some of the things she said about me were true. If there'd been six more years of the worst parts of our relationship to contend with…. " He sighed and gave a slight shrug. "With six more years living the worst parts of our marriage….maybe I _would_ have become that terrible husband….that terrible _person_ that she described."

He paused, not knowing what to expect-some exclamation of surprise, Lucy telling him he didn't know what he was saying….but there was no response. So he pressed on. "The thing is….I was never truthful with you, Lucy, about my past with her." He paused for a beat. "I guess I haven't been very truthful with myself about it, either. Not for years."

He jumped, as Lucy touched his arm. Her hand slid down, until she was lightly holding his wrist. He sighed. "We were married, but we weren't….together. Not really, not after the first couple of years. We didn't support each other, we weren't there for each other. It had gotten so bad…" he glanced upward at her face, "That surfing accident I had, in Hawaii?"

She nodded, her eyes warm and inviting, giving him the strength to continue.

"Jessica was there, physically, in the hospital with me….but I didn't _feel_ it, she wasn't really there, you know? It was a slow recovery-in the hospital and back in San Diego….and that whole time I remember just feeling….alone."

Lucy nodded again, but stayed quiet.

He sighed. "We were just kids, when we got married, kids with some messed up baggage we were dragging around with us. We had no business, thinking so far into the future as to get married. I don't know about Jess…..but I sure as hell didn't know anything about myself back then, about what was important to me. But, after she….died….I think it was easier to….just remember the good stuff, you know?"

Lucy released his wrist, nodding again. She looked like she was about to say something else, but then she went quiet again.

He scoffed, running his hand down his face. "Rittenhouse Jessica, non-Rittenhouse Jessica, same or different...I don't know." He chewed at his lower lip, recognizing one truth within the uncertainty. "I do know she was there for me, when I needed someone….when I was a screwed up kid….and I'll always love her for that. But, getting to know her again, these past few weeks…. I don't think we were ever meant to be Lucy. I don't….I don't even _like_ myself when I'm with her. And, when I think about it….I didn't like myself during much of our marriage, either. I just….I didn't even recognize it….because I didn't have anything to compare it to. He sighed, chewing at his lower lip, then raised his gaze to hers. And that's basically what I told Jessica yesterday-in that bunker bathroom," he huffed out a sigh, "And then she decided to turn us over to Rittenhouse."

Lucy nodded. "Your conversation in the bathroom….that I half overheard. I know you'd wanted to talk," she paused, her eyes darting around his face, "I wanted to talk about it too," she amended, "But we never got the chance to talk about it because of…."

"All the exploding and the running?" he said with a slight raise of his eyebrow.

"All the exploding and running," she nodded, the corner of her mouth turning upward into an almost-smirk.

He felt his lips begin to quirk upward in response-until the full implication of what she had said hit him like a brick. She had overheard that conversation _yesterday_. And things were different now than they were yesterday. Yesterday was before he knew who Jessica was….before Lucy knew the way he had endangered her life. He sighed, shaking his head. "I guess none of that matters now, does it?" Then he scoffed " I bet you wish you'd never overheard any of that!"

"What?" she looked genuinely perplexed.

He shrugged lightly, and brought his gaze back to the floor. "That whole bathroom conversation….that was before we knew who Jessica really was, before we knew what I had done, by trusting her, by bringing her into the bunker."

"Wyatt," you're not responsible for this, for what happened," she said softly.

"Not responsible? If I am not responsible, then who the hell is?" He closed his eyes, "I brought her to the bunker, I brought her-this danger-into our home….and in between us. I mean….I did it all _willingly_ , Lucy."

"Yes, but not knowingly."

He blew out a quick breath, and looked her in the eye. "That doesn't make it any better. I'm supposed to protect you, and the rest of the team. That's my job. And instead I nearly destroyed you….nearly destroyed everyone….hell, I nearly destroyed the only chance we have to resist Rittenhouse-the Lifeboat-all by bringing her here. It was worse than not being able to do my job-it's not like I just couldn't prevent the damage….I caused it." He looked down again, painfully aware that his words were inadequate-how could any words be adequate after the damage he'd done. He glanced up quickly to gauge her reaction-

And she surprised him by suddenly throwing her arms around him in a tight, almost too forceful, hug. She held him, they stayed like that for a handful of heartbeats….and he felt the tension that had coiled within him since he'd first sat on the cot begin to leave his body, just by this act of her holding him, by her being near.

Until he was overcome by the knowledge that he didn't deserve her comfort-he didn't deserve any of it.

She must have felt the change in him at that new thought, as she drew back, releasing him from the hug, and sought out his eyes with hers as she trailed her right hand up along his arm, across his chest, up his neck, and brought it to rest against his cheek.

"Wyatt," she began, "I don't want you going down this dark path of blaming yourself for things that Rittenhouse put in motion. Put in motion for the specific purpose of destroying you….destroying us."

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, her words.

"Jessica did this. She made those choices, that's on her, and on Rittenhouse," she continued, "They orchestrated this whole thing-they played on your hopes, your fears, your guilt….all for their gain, because they're despicable."

He straightened his head, breaking contact with her hand, but holding contact with her eyes. "I made it pretty easy on them."

She sighed. "Because you're human, Wyatt. If it had been Amy, I would have done the same. I _did_ do the same by discounting my mother's role in all of this for so long….until she was gloating about it right to my face."

He scoffed lightly. A million ways to contradict her claim that her not suspecting her mother's involvement with Rittenhouse was in anyway similar to this-to this thing he had done-circled through his head. But the hug, the warmth in her voice, the kindness in her eyes, it was distracting. His memory tugged at his consciousness-the look of wonder in her eyes from the night before when she had said that she overheard him say he loved her, the quiet joy in her eyes in that Hollywood guesthouse…. He closed his eyes, as if that could somehow stop the flow of images in his mind. He wanted to believe her words so badly.

"I hear you….I do," he said. But telling me things aren't my fault, forgiving me for what happened….I don't know if I deserve it."

She didn't respond for a moment, and he opened his eyes to see an emotional storm crossing hers. He watched as she straightened, pulling slightly back from him. The storm in her eyes passed, and then her expression became like steel. She grabbed his hand in hers then, and he was surprised to see her eyes soften slightly, as she spoke.

"Wyatt Logan _is_ worthy of forgiveness….he deserves forgiveness." She released his hand. "We've all made mistakes, Wyatt….but we've also all earned the opportunity to start anew. I know you know that."

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He was silent for a moment, then spoke in a soft voice. I do….I mean….I want to. But it's hard….you have to understand Lucy. No one has believed in me like that-like you do. At least not for a long time. Grandpa, but he's gone. And….Jess, way back in senior year…." He sucked in a breath. "And we know where that got me…."

The rest of his explanation was cut off as he found his air squeezed out of him again in another Lucy Preston-patented-attack-hug. He felt himself relax into her, surrendering to the instinct, forcing himself to ignore the berating voice in his head that told him to pull back from the comfort she offered-trying instead to focus on replacing that voice with Lucy's voice of forgiveness in his mind. Eventually, she released his shoulders and he pulled back, surprised to find her grinning up at him.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"It's my new plan," she replied, "Any time you start back down that dark path of guilt and self-condemnation you like so much, I hug the stuffing out of you."

He stared at her for a moment, then couldn't suppress the laugh that bubbled up from inside him.

"See?" she asked, voice dripping with mock sweetness, "It's working already."

He shifted on the cot, angling his legs so that their knees were together again. How was it she able to make him laugh, even now?

"S'a good plan," he gave a slight smile, "Honestly, it helps."

She nodded, and he watched as a new wave of emotion crossed her features, and she seemed lost in thought for a moment. He was about to deflect away from the emotion of the conversation with an inane joke about boundaries in the bunker when she suddenly leaned into his side, grabbing his hand. Not knowing what else to do-not wanting to do anything else-he shifted, to tuck her closer against him. He had no idea what they were doing, where this was going-they were far off any kind of script he had anticipated after sharing Jessica's letter with her. But, content to let Lucy take the lead on….whatever this was, he squeezed her hand tighter in response, waiting for her to say something.

After a moment, she did. "You told me, in Hollywood, that I had saved your life."

He nodded, "It was the truth….you did."

She peered at him, as though carefully weighing her next words in her mind. "Because you _cared_ again. Because you saw a future again….because you hoped again."

He ducked his head quickly, still unnerved by how she could see him….truly see him, like that. But it was for that very reason he owed her this conversation, so he raised his gaze again slowly, until it met hers.

"Yes….to all of that." He watched her for a moment, then continued. "That's what I told Jess in the bathroom yesterday, too-that I saw my future with you."

She nodded slightly. "So why do you think that I would wish I hadn't overheard you? Do you regret saying it? Now, after Jessica's betrayal….have you somehow changed your mind about what you said?"

He shook his head. "No, of course not."

She was still staring at him—no, not at him, but practically _through_ him, as though she could read his mind, his emotions….far more easily he could. She was expecting him to say more.

He sighed, "I haven't changed my mind. I guess I'm just afraid that….with what's happened….what if I lost my opportunity….for any of that?"

"Lost your opportunity to hope for a better future?"

He nodded, silently.

She straightened then, pulling away from his side. "Wyatt….I need you to listen to me." Her words were firm, unyielding. So he raised his head again, and listened.

"You can't lose your opportunity to hope….your opportunity for a better future….that can't be taken away from you….it's only something you can give away. I….I learned that, in those six weeks with my mother. The things she said, the things that happened…. I was still committed to stopping Rittenhouse, but I gave up hope for my future. But I know now that I still deserve that hope….still deserve that future, and that I'm willing to put in the work to make that happen."

"Working to build your own future, the one you hope for," he echoed, nodding. He sighed, then looked sideways at her, allowing his lips to turn upward in the tiniest of smirks. "Think you can do that while we're still saving the world against Rittenhouse?"

"I'm a woman. I can multitask."

And somehow, even with all the stress and heartache of the day-he laughed again. Elbows on knees, he held his face in his hands for a moment longer, after the laughter had faded, then returned his gaze to Lucy, to see a small knowing smile on her face.

"So," she began, "Even with everything that's happened….that's what I know to be true. That I, Lucy Preston, want and deserve that hope," she paused, eyeing him almost shyly, "What about you?"

What about him? His mind whirled. Even with everything that had happened….could he still see a future, did he deserve it? He reached for her hand, squeezing it gently, and saw the confidence and faith _in him_ shining in her eyes. She knew what she expected him to say….and somehow that gave him strength.

"Yes, he replied simply.

She smiled and leaned against him again, her head back against his shoulder. "Good, otherwise I was going to have to hug you again."

He laughed. And how was it even possible that she could help him laugh, even at a time like this? He shifted slightly, so he could see her face better. Was it any real surprise, he mused. Afterall-breathing light into his miserable life, wasn't that what Lucy Preston always did? Just being near her made him feel lighter. He glanced at her again, her eyes were closed now, seemingly just enjoying the moment of peace. He would never not be amazed by her-even knowing his faults, his vulnerabilities….she was always there to build him up, to strengthen the weak parts of his soul, to help bridge over the missing pieces….

He closed his own eyes.

He was a flawed man, he knew that-resulting from a combination of his own culpability, his own _mistakes,_ as well as from a series of shitty experiences and environments. But still, she had that way of pushing past those flaws, that way of celebrating the _best_ parts of him. It was even more than that, he supposed. Because it wasn't that she just overlooked those flaws, but sought to help him _repair_ them.

He opened his eyes again, glancing at the shelf above his head-and at the book that contained the letter-his mind drawn back to this timeline's Jessica…. Jessica had known those flaws, those weak points too….but she had twisted them to her advantage. Even his own Jessica, he supposed. During the lowest points of their relationship, she had done that too, hadn't she? Picked at the scabs in his psyche until they were raw….then manipulated him while he was distracted by the pain….

He exhaled and glanced down, to find Lucy looking at him with a questioning gaze. He knew she could see the tears that had escaped his eyes-and he didn't care. He wanted to explain it all to her-why she was so special, how she made his life better, why he valued her so dearly….

But a slightly strangled "Lucy," was all he could manage.

As though once again reading his thoughts she said, "We're good for each other, you and me. I've missed this. It's felt all….wrong, with us not together, these past six weeks….I'm not my best self without you."

He scoffed, "You're being ridiculous. You're Lucy Preston, and you're amazing. And you definitely don't need my sorry-ass extra weight dragging you down."

She shook her head. "No, that's where you're wrong."

He looked at her quizzically.

"I mean, yes," she continued, "I am amazing." She threw him a smirk that looked suspiciously like his own. He couldn't stop himself from returning it.

"But I'm _happy_ with you."

He sucked in a breath. He knew that couldn't be true.

"I don't mean like constant joyfulness happy," she continued, again seemingly perfectly attuned to his private thoughts. "But I mean, no matter what life throws at us, no matter how hard it gets….it makes it better when you're here. "I might not have guessed it, and I don't think you did, either, but we're a good team, we have been from the start, and in a number of different ways. But the most important one? When we're together, I'm happy ….and that makes me feel unstoppable. And, more than that, I can see a future for _us_. You're the one who gives me the strength to hope, to dream about that future….again."

He exhaled sharply. That was it then. The confirmation regarding _her_ feelings that he had been so worried about this morning. A lightness….a joy began to sweep through him….but he pushed it away. Because there was something else. Something else that he had to say first.

It was something that he had planned on telling her earlier this morning, back before he'd ever seen Jessica's letter, before this new world they found themselves in. It was something that was somehow smaller than Rittenhouse, yet bigger, all at the same time.

He straightened, forcing Lucy to sit upright, breaking the physical connection between them. He compensated for the loss by seeking out her eyes with his own. "Lucy-I'm so sorry I hurt you."

He watched as a look of confusion crossed her features. "Before all of this," he motioned around the room, "Before we knew the truth about Jessica. Back to when I first received that text message, and ran off….and every other thing…." he sighed, "I hurt you time and time again….I didn't mean to….I was trying to do the right thing…..but I just kept hurting you."

He saw understanding in her eyes then, and he dropped his gaze. She was silent for a moment, then he heard her voice soft, but strong.

"As far as hurting me goes…."

He blinked hard, holding the tears at bay, and forced himself to meet her gaze.

She nodded slightly when their eyes met, and sighed. "You did hurt me, Wyatt."

He nodded in response, shifting his gaze back to the floor.

She cupped her hand under his chin, drawing his gaze back to meet hers. "But there were no right answers in any of that situation-and I know you weren't intentionally trying to cause me pain." She paused for a moment, releasing his chin as her eyes darted downward and then back to his, meeting his gaze again. "And I know what it's like….to do what you think is the right thing, no matter what your heart wants. I did the same-trying to push you away, to protect myself….but it only made the pain worse." She gave a tight-lipped grin, "I recognize it now, that you were- _we_ were-both so bound up in what was right for others, what was right for the situation….that we both pushed back against what….what was right for us."

"What was right for us?"

She nodded.

He blew out a sigh. "There were so many times, since Jessica came to the bunker….so many times when I _wanted_ to tell you what I was really feeling….so many times when I almost did. But I'd caused you so much hurt….I was sure were done with me. I was a coward. He glanced at her again, to see unshed tears in her eyes.

"We were both afraid. We were both hurting…..because we weren't honest-with ourselves, or with each other. But," she said, leaning back against his arm in an almost-tentative way that threatened to break his heart all over again. "I think….maybe we can start back toward that right path if we're honest with each other _now_. If that's what you want….and if we're brave."

"It's what I want," he said, pulling her closer and tucking her head under his chin. "And for you? I know I can be brave." He brushed her forehead with his lips. "And you're already the bravest person I've ever met, so we've got that covered." He felt her relax against him, his heart broke for her a little more, recognizing that the sigh that escaped her lips sounded an awful lot like relief. How had he ever led her to doubt the strength of his feelings for her?

"Good," she said, it was nearly a whisper.

"Good?"

"Um-hm."

His mind was spinning again, but this time in far happier circles than it had been earlier. "So," he began, straightening so that they were again facing each other, "Just to be clear, where does this leave us?"

She smiled. "Same place as always, kicking ass and taking names….and moving forward toward our better future, together."

Her use of 'our' wasn't lost on him. He nodded. "Moving toward _our_ better future. I like the sound of that." He smirked at her, "After all, we certainly don't want to keep living in the past, right?"

She opened her mouth as though about to respond, but then she presumably caught his meaning, and she shook her head with a smile. "You're incorrigible."

"Absolutely, ma'am." He chuckled, bringing her hand to his mouth, brushing her knuckles with a light kiss. It was something that would have seemed impossible a half hour previously, but Wyatt could feel that special warmth of belonging and hope fill him. The chuckle faded, as a more somber thought took hold in his mind. "Seriously though, thank you," he said He reached for her other hand, lightly tracing her fingers until she spoke."

"For what?"

He smiled. "For being you. And for reminding me that I can move forward….and that I _want_ to move forward….with you." He clasped her hand, squeezing it lightly, and sighed. "You know enough about how it was for me before-after Jessica was killed. I didn't do the 'moving forward' thing very well."

She nodded, and said, "I know, but it'll be easier this time."

"What makes you say that?"

She shrugged, "Because this time Jessica made her choices. And because this time, you're not alone-you won't be alone. I'm here-and Rufus and Jiya, and Connor and Denise….and yes, even Flynn. You have a family who cares about you. But mostly, because I'm here….and I'm not going to let you sink back into this self-destructive guilt that consumes you-even if you think you want to-I'm going to make sure of it-it's my mission." Then she smiled-no, practically beamed-at him.

"Yeah?", he felt a lazy smile cross his face. "What makes you so sure you'll be successful in this mission?"

She smirked at him. "Well, for one, I don't know if you've noticed….but I can be pretty determined, when I put my mind to something."

He chuckled softly, "I might have noticed."

She nodded. "But more importantly? Because I have a lot riding on it"

"You do?"

She moved suddenly, to grasp the sides of his face in hers, snapping his attention to her. His eyes now boring into hers, reminding him of another time, another place, where she had been able to pull him out of the darkness through her sheer force of will.

"Rittenhouse did this. But the thing is, Wyatt-we still beat them. They tried their best to destroy us….and we're all still standing. Our team is still here, and we'll be stronger than ever because of this."

He let her words sink through him. She was right, of course. She was always right. "Still standing and stronger for it," he said.

She released his face, sliding her hands down his arms to grasp his hands in hers. "And for the record," she continued, "I feel the same way about us. And I should have told you this right away last night….and I didn't, but I'm saying it now. I have a lot riding on his because I love you too, Wyatt Logan."

He blinked at her in surprise.

"And because I'm ready to fight for what I want-and that's to meet the future along with you-that we'll move forward toward that future together."

There were tears running across her cheeks now, he swiped one away as he tried to keep his own at bay. "Me too," he said, swinging his arm around her shoulder and pulling her to him, until her head once again rested against his shoulder.

They sat together in silence for a moment, as he let the emotion of the day pass through him until he was filled with calm. "'You know what the worst of this is?"

"The disgusting toilet in our new bunker's bathroom?"

He chuckled "No. By bringing her here, by setting this all in motion…." he glanced down at her, noting the curiosity in her face, "I….wasted so much time."

"Time?"

"For us."

"For us." She repeated.

He ran his hand along her arm. "One thing we both know through all of this is how….fickle time can be. That time demands our respect. That you can't take it lightly….or it disappears on you."

She lifted her head from his shoulder. 'Then let's not waste another second of it."

She ran one hand through his hair then, tugging at his shoulder with the other and leaning in, to lessen the distance between them. He leaned in too, meeting her half way as his hands came up to frame her face, and as their lips met in a kiss of love, and of hope, and of promise.


End file.
